The Cherokee Rose that Bloomed For Him
by WinterIsComing01
Summary: Adair Trottingwolf has been on the run for the better part of the year when she encounters a group of survivors at an abandoned, walker-filled home. She decides to risk her life to save theirs, and they invite her to join them. Thus, the fun ensues. Rated M for language and violence, romance in the future. DarylXOC
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note - Hey guys. I had some ideas a-brewin' for another Walking Dead story. Some of you requested another one, so I've been working on this for a few days now. I recently got some, er, shall we say unenthusiastic feedback regarding my Stirrings story, and now I'm sort of looking at it askance. I feel like this one is better...but who knows. Anyway, hopefully the summary didn't bore you. I suck at writing them. I don't know what this shit's about...I just write. :-)**

**Recommended soundtrack: New Divide by Linkin Park**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's cannon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose that Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 1**

Adair scrambled up the tree as quickly as she could find footing, getting splinters in both of her hands but not stopping to care. She could hear the growling and hissing behind her from the diseased things closing in on her, and that only served to spur her on faster.

Her boots found leverage against the tree trunk as she grabbed a branch, her muscles straining as she hoisted herself up. She felt a cold hand grab her dangling leg, and with an involuntary cry, she kicked her leg out, peeking over her shoulder to see she'd made contact with the dead thing's head. It came right back for her, but the kick bought her a couple of seconds to pull her legs up and out of reach.

Normally, she was all about taking the things out as quickly as she could, but there were just too many of them for her to chance it. She could get easily overrun - she'd seen it happen before to others, and had narrowly escaped it herself on countless occasions.

She wrapped her arms around her knees as they gathered at the base of the tree, more and more. There had to be twenty of them. She figured she had just royally screwed herself, but instinct told her to get up the tree. She glanced around, seeing the roof of the house she'd just vacated was not too far of a jump away from the furthest extended branch. Maybe she could crawl along the branch, then swing herself onto the roof. She looked back down at the frenzy below her. It was her only option at this point. The things weren't going to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Adair took a moment to take a breather and catalog her injuries. No scratches or bites, but she had a gnarly bruise on her shin and her hands were scraped from climbing up the tree. She quickly checked her Glock. One in the chamber, a full mag, plus an extra in her bra. Her hand dropped to the right side of her belt. _Knife,_ she thought, feeling but not looking. Her hand shifted to her left side. _Other knife_. She glanced in the direction of the side of the house, frowning. Her military rucksack and sleeping bag were still there, containing all her supplies and clothing. She supposed she'd have to leave it for now; hope the zombies would move on so she could go back for it.

She reached down to tighten the laces of her boots, looking down at the diseased again as she did so. They were going nuts, literally trying to climb over each other to reach uselessly up the tree for her.

She took a deep breath and rose to a crouching position, tucking her Glock securely in her shorts at the small of her back. She stepped very carefully along the branch of the tree. Luckily it was fairly thick and sturdy below her feet, but she took her time nonetheless. Unless the infected suddenly sprouted wings or learned how to climb trees in the next few minutes, she would be all right.

She stepped out further, tentatively. The branch bowed ever so slightly under her weight. She was about to be out of arm's length from the trunk of the tree, which she'd been clutching. She paused for a moment, gauging the distance from where she stood to the roof, estimating where exactly the branch should break.

_Well,_ she thought dryly. _Here goes nothing_. If worse came to worst and she fell, she could always eat a bullet before they could really tear her apart. She didn't fear death, not anymore. Not after all she'd seen and all she'd lost.

She said a quick prayer, crossing herself, and then reared back and took off sprinting. She leapt into the air, hearing the branch crack and give way underneath her the instant before she jumped.

_Not far enough! _her mind screamed as she flew through the air. She stretched her arms out anyway, and by some stroke of incredibly good luck, she caught the edge of the roof under her arms.

_"Oof,"_she grunted, clutching the edge of the roof as it slammed punishingly into her ribs. Her legs dangled down as she struggled to bring her chest up. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the things starting to lumber toward her now, clinging to the roof. She swung a leg up, catching the edge of the roof with her heel, and it was sheer willpower that allowed her to pull her body up and onto the roof. She rolled over on her back, gasping. She was content to lay there for a moment, basking in being alive.

She rolled over on her stomach, pulling herself up as she stepped carefully across the roof. It looked like it was intact, but she knew the house was old, and she didn't want to risk falling through the roof and breaking her neck.

She reached the front of the roof without incident. She could still hear the creatures in a frenzy at the back of the house. She knew it was only a matter of time before they came shambling to the front.

The sudden noise of a car engine scared her half to death, and she instinctively dropped flat on her stomach to avoid being seen. She peeked over the edge of the roof, seeing first a red and white old SUV, a newer looking truck, and a light green smaller SUV style vehicle pull up to side of the house. She heard a louder thrumming noise and saw a man on a motorcycle gliding up smoothly to a stop. As she watched, the man on the bike dismounted, unslinging a crossbow from his back. A tall, slim man got out of the red and white car, followed by a young boy. From the green car, a young Asian man and a young, pretty brunette slid out. A burly black man stepped out of the truck.

She could see there were a few others in the cars that remained within. She could only make out that they were human, however, and nothing else distinguishing.

She watched with interest as the man with the crossbow and the taller slim man held their weapons out in front of them. They moved with almost military-like precision, slipping into the house silently, communicating with only hand gestures. She listened intently, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. She had entered the house, seen the creatures loitering inside, and run out back without even exploring the house, deciding she didn't want to be faced with the possibility of getting overrun by a houseful of ghouls. That was when she'd managed to draw the attention of the other creatures out back and scampered up the tree. She sincerely hoped she hadn't just inadvertently executed these people. She shuddered at the thought. She had to try to figure out a way to help them, she thought, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of the back of the house.

She heard a few muted _thunks_ of the crossbow - she had grown up with crossbows and compound bows, so the noises were familiar to her. She thought she heard an owl, of all things, but that noise was quickly cut off by another _thunk _of the crossbow. Next, she heard a few unmistakable reports of the guns the others carried and she winced. She began to edge along the roof toward the back again, not wanting to be caught unawares when more creatures came through.

After a moment, she heard the car doors slam. The others must be making their way into the house now. She held still, listening, wondering if they would make conversation. She heard nothing but stillness for a while. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. A dozen or so of the zombies that had been on her had migrated toward the front of the house, dumbly following the noises. She listened hard, hoping to hear some words of warning exchanged. She heard a crashing noise, as though someone had thrown something and any creature that hadn't yet begun to migrate to the front and sides of the house, now did.

She slithered on her belly to the back of the house. It was now clear. Carefully, she pushed her legs over the edge and gripped the edge of the roof, using her arms to lower herself down until she dangled and could safely drop to the ground without breaking her legs. She landed lightly on her feet, bending her knees, sticking her butt out to absorb the shock. She hesitated for a moment, looking over her shoulder, reasonable temptation suddenly coming over her. It was all clear; she could make a run for it. There were no stirrings in the house, though, and as guilt assaulted her again, she decided she just could not allow these people to suffer for her laziness, whoever they were.

She slid noiselessly through the back door. Walking on the balls of her feet with her knees slightly bent, body at an angle, she slipped down the hall and easily located the group in the living room.

She whistled softly, and every head swiveled in her direction sharply, along with a variety of weapons. She wasn't sure if it was because she was a woman, but the faces relaxed ever so slightly when they saw her. The weapons, however, stayed up and pointed at her.

She pointed two fingers at her eyeballs then jabbed them at the window. The black man looked over his shoulder and hissed softly, looking back to his group with urgency on his face. The tall, slim bearded man nodded sharply at the black man, before making a sharp forward chopping gesture with his hand.

"Hurry!" Adair risked a soft whisper, waving them on. She turned and scurried for the door, hearing multiple sets of footsteps behind her. She pushed the door open and stood to the side, holding it open as she drew her Glock, as the people in the group poured out of the house, running, clutching their bags.

She decided it was as good an opportunity to get away as any. When the tall, slim man exited the house, having apparently elected to bring up the rear, she shut the door noiselessly and turned to leave. She gave him a nod over her shoulder, seeing just about his whole group getting into the vehicles.

"Wait!" the tall slim man whispered harshly. "Where are you going?"

"You need to hurry!" Adair whispered back, gesturing wildly. "Go!" She took off, straining for speed. She ducked around the side of the house, grabbing her pack where she'd stashed it. As she swung it over her shoulders and tightened the straps, she glanced up and gasped, seeing a group of about six or seven zombies in front of her. They immediately caught her scent and turned, hissing and staggering toward her.

_Shit! _her mind shouted. She skipped backward and whirled around, facing toward the forest lining the back of the house. She saw more creatures stumbling from between the trees. She hesitated uncertainly, holding her Glock up halfway, wanting to fire but knowing it would just draw more zombies.

She bit a hole in her bottom lip to muffle a shriek when a hand clamped around her ankle. One of the creatures was on the ground, pulling its hungry mouth to her, trying to sink what was left of its rotting teeth onto the leather of her boot. She shook it off frantically then brought the butt of her gun down hard on the back of its skull, cracking the skull and exposing mushy brain matter.

_Thunk! _The sound of the crossbow bolt swishing past her head brought her gaze up sharply, and she saw the biker guy pointing it at her.

"Come on!" he hissed, gesturing toward himself. Adair peeked back and saw a zombie lying on the ground just behind her. They were closing in, but she instinctively paused to lean down and yank the arrow out of the thing's head. She didn't know how readily available bolts were these days, and it was the least she could do for the guy after he'd just saved her life.

She hurried to him, handing him the arrow. He looked mildly surprised and nodded his appreciation. He gripped her shoulder and shoved her back toward his group.

"At least let us get you out of here!" the tall slim man said urgently. Adair hesitated, then, realizing it was the best offer she was like to get anytime soon, ran for the black man's truck. She rapped her knuckles briefly on the door frame to get his attention to alert him to her presence and vaulted herself over the side, landing roughly on several bags.

She found a corner of the bed and curled into a ball, suddenly feeling safer than she had in a very long time as the truck pulled off with the other vehicles.


	2. Chapter 2

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's cannon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**Recommended Soundtrack: Time Of The Season by the Zombies**

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 2**

They pulled to a stop on the side of the road. She wasn't sure how far they had gone as exhaustion had gotten the better of her and she'd dozed off under the warm Georgia sun, the thrum of the truck's engine lulling her tired body and mind to sleep.

She jerked upright when she heard a rapping noise on the side of the truck. She glanced up. Icy blue eyes in a suntanned face, under a cap of dark hair, peered over the edge of the truck bed.

"Get out," the owner of the eyes, the biker, instructed her, not unkindly. She yawned then hoisted herself up and jumped nimbly over the side, landing on her feet. When she rose, all eyes were on her. She swallowed, tension creeping over her. _What did you get yourself into?_

The tall slim man spoke first. "Who are you?" His voice wasn't threatening; it was even and low-pitched, almost friendly. _Almost, but not quite._His eyes regarded her with careful, but not hostile, suspicion.

"My name's Adair," she replied. "Adair Trottingwolf."

The man half-smiled. "That's, ah...an interesting name," he observed.

Adair returned his tense smile. "My dad was Cherokee," she explained.

"What were you doing at that house?" he asked, his voice still low and calm but holding an air of authority.

"Same as you, I reckon," she replied, "scavenging. Looking for food, supplies. Well, that's what I meant to do anyway. I left before I could get anything, because of the creatures."

"You knew there were walkers in that house?"

"Walkers?" she repeated. That one was new. "Yes. Well, sort of. I saw the few close to the front door then changed my mind and tried to get the hell out of there. Came on a small herd out back. They chased me up a tree, and I jumped on the roof when y'all showed up." She paused, glancing around. No one was giving her dirty looks, but everyone was regarding her with the same special kind of guarded suspicion that the tall slim man had. "They heard you and came back around to the front."

The man nodded. She reckoned he must be the leader, as he was the only one who had addressed her so far.

"But you came in to warn us," he finished. "That was right decent of you."

"I felt responsible," she said sheepishly. "I couldn't leave you in there to be…_walker_bait."

"We appreciate it," an elderly gentleman with white hair spoke up. She glanced at him and nodded.

"You know of anywhere safe around here?" the tall slim man asked. "I'm trying to find a safe place for my group to stay. That's my wife," he nodded over her shoulder at the dark-haired woman sitting tiredly in the passenger seat of one of the SUVs, "and she's nine months pregnant. She's about due, any day now. I'd like her to be able to have the baby in a safe place."

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I migrated out here from the city. I'd been staying in a hotel downtown Atlanta when it finally got overrun, after I had to leave my house. I managed to escape and gradually made my way out here. I've been going house to house for months now, finding places here and there, but I either use up all the supplies or the herds keep passing through."

"We've seen a lot of herds too," the man nodded. "Lost a farm to one." He looked at her for a moment then finally extended his hand. "I'm Rick Grimes."

She took his hand and shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Rick."

He smiled at the classic display of Southern politeness. This woman was probably in her mid- to late twenties, and had clearly been taught to address her elders with that kind of respect.

"Just Rick," he said softly, nodding. He pointed to the young boy that was standing guard in the direction they'd been heading. "That's my son, Carl."

One by one, everyone quickly introduced themselves. Adair committed all their names to memory right away. The young blonde was Beth. The elderly, white haired gentleman was her father, Hershel. The pretty brunette was Beth's older sister, Maggie. The Asian boy was Glenn, Maggie's boyfriend. The black man was Theodore but asked to be called T-Dog. The woman with the cropped gray hair was Carol. The pregnant woman was Lori. Finally, Adair turned and met the icy blue eyes again.

"Daryl," the biker said in a low, raspy voice. She nodded, her eyes going over him quickly. She guessed he was in his early to mid-thirties. He wore a sleeveless shirt under a leather vest despite the heat. His arms were thick and sinewy with muscle, his sun-browned skin stretched taut. He had a short scruffy beard on the lower portion of his face. His bright blue eyes studied her intently, warily, narrowing slightly.

"We got no place left to go." The sound of T-Dog's voice broke her gaze from Daryl. Maggie was spreading a map on the hood of the vehicle they were standing next to.

"When this herd meets up with us, we'll be cut off," she sighed, pointing to a spot on the map. "We'll never make it south."

Daryl stepped past Adair to lean his elbows on the car. "What would you say, that's about 150-head?"

Glenn stepped forward to peer at the map over Maggie's shoulder. "That was last week," he said wryly. "Could be twice that by now."

Hershel pointed at the map. "This river could have delayed them. If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through -"

"Yeah, but if this group joins with that one," T-Dog interrupted, "they could spill out this way."

"So we're blocked," Adair murmured, folding her arms and chewing her lip. She felt glances from the others fall on her, as though they'd almost forgotten she was there.

Rick slipped in between Maggie and T-Dog and added his finger to the map. "Only thing to do is double back on 27, swing toward Greenville," he said in a low voice.

T-Dog sighed and ran a hand over his bald head. "Yeah, but we picked through that already. It's like we spent the winter going in circles."

"Yeah, I know," Rick replied, as though he were trying to soothe the man. "I know. At new noon we'll push west. Haven't been through there yet. We can't keep goin' house to house." He paused, glancing at Adair. "Neither can you. We need to find someplace to hole up for a few weeks." His eyes strayed, and Adair followed his gaze again over her shoulder to settle on Lori.

Adair felt a surge of sympathy for the woman. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be nine months pregnant not only in this heat, but this new, dangerous world.

"All right," T-Dog said brusquely, rolling up the map. He turned to Rick. "Is it cool if we get to the creek before we head out? Won't take long, and we gotta fill up on water. We can boil it later."

"Knock yourself out," Rick replied.

Adair stood uncertainly, watching a group head off toward the creek. She turned when she heard Hershel's voice.

"She can't take much more of this moving about," the older man said in a low voice to Rick.

"What else can we do?" Rick replied. "Want her to give birth on the road?"

Hershel placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. "You see a way around that?" He asked gently. He stepped back and moved to his youngest daughter.

Rick looked defeated, lowering his gaze and sighing. Adair felt another pang of sympathy for him, as well.

"You'll find something," she said quietly, drawing his gaze. She nodded to affirm her statement, and he smiled weakly at her.

"Thank you," he said. He paused. "I'd like you to consider joining us. I can't just very well leave you to fend for yourself, especially with herds closing in. Not that you're incapable of takin' care of yourself, Lord knows you've done it this long, but one person cannot withstand a whole herd. And I won't have your blood on my hands, not after you risked your own life to warn us back at that house."

Adair wasn't quite sure what to say. On the one hand, it might be nice to be with a group of people, especially one as tight as this one appeared to be and have people to watch her back. On the other, she hated to impose. She would just be another mouth to feed, another ass to watch and be worried about. Granted, she had hunting skills and was more than comfortable with guns, so she knew she would be able to pull her weight. Still...

_Remember the early days? That group you fell in with for forty-eight hours? You thought they were nice, too…_

Her hesitation showed plainly on her face, and Rick surprised her by reaching out and patting her shoulder.

"Think it over," he said. "But at least stay with us for a night or two."

A night or two; she could at least do that. She nodded her consent. If things went wrong, she could slip out. She'd done it before, she could certainly do it again.

"Hey," a gruff voice said from behind her. Rick glanced over her shoulder and she turned, seeing Daryl unstrapping his crossbow. He flicked his head at Rick. "While the others are washin' their panties, let's go hunt."

Rick nodded, turning back to Adair. "You all right here by yourself?"

"Actually, I could come with you," she offered, glancing back at the hunter. He regarded her doubtfully. "I can hunt."

"You can," he replied, skepticism clear in his voice.

She unsheathed her knife and nodded. "I do much better with a bow or a rifle but I've been makin' do with this here knife." She smiled timidly.

He looked amused. He glanced over her head at Rick before shrugging.

"I should probably check on Lori, anyway," Rick said. "Why don't you go on without me just now."

"Come on if you wanna," Daryl said to Adair, the same slightly doubtful tone in his voice. "Just don't scare my game away."

"I won't," she promised, following him.

O:O:O

If Daryl had a hat, he'd have eaten it.

The girl, Adair, surprised the shit out of him. He had expected her to not know how to walk in the woods, stepping on every stick and twig, tripping over herself, scaring off all the prey. But he could tell she'd been telling the truth about knowing how to hunt and he figured she'd been raised doing so. She walked carefully in measured steps on the balls of her feet, eyes swinging from side to side, taking in everything and missing nothing.

They both spotted the squirrel at the same time. It wasn't far from them. Simultaneously, they both dropped into a crouch and Daryl drew bead with his crossbow. He started when he felt her cool hand on his arm.

"I got it," he barely heard her whisper. Before he could ask her what she was talking about, her knife suddenly flew through the air, impaling the squirrel neatly to the tree with a soft _twang_.

His mouth dropped open as he watched her rise from her crouch and pick her way delicately over the uneven ground to the tree. In one fluid motion she yanked her knife free, wiping it off on her shorts, and used just the fingers of her right hand to break the squirrel's neck quickly so it wouldn't suffer. She walked back over to them and handed Daryl the squirrel.

He took it from her, still staring at her in disbelief.

"What?" she asked innocently, but her wide, almond-shaped gray eyes sparkled with mirth. "Come on. We should get a few more."

They repeated the process a few more times, Daryl using his crossbow for longer distances but Adair killed every squirrel within a knife's throw by herself. Soon they had half a dozen.

They came across the creek after traipsing through the woods for some time, following some old wooden train tracks. They followed along the bank of it for a while, searching for more squirrels or rabbit. Suddenly, the woods ended and the bank of the creek was bathed in sunlight. They stepped out into the clearing and looked around, surprised at the sudden break in the dense forest.

Daryl jumped slightly when he felt Adair's fingers brush his arm for the second time that day.

"Daryl," she breathed, pointing. "Look..."

He took in the high wire fences, the imposing building, the concrete walls. Despite the dozens of walkers milling around beyond the fences, he saw security. He felt a slow smile spread over his face.

"Come on," he said, nudging her back toward the direction of the cars. "Let's go tell Rick."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note - shout out to the homie NoirChick for being my first reviewer! Shout to piratejessieswaby for her reviews as well. And thanks for keeping up my spirits about Stirrings. I'll come back to it soon enough. I'm gonna devote some time to this one for now though. Enjoy!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Blind by Korn; Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Ray**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's cannon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 3**

Rick's plan was simple in theory, menacing in execution, in Adair's opinion. Distract the walkers in the grassy area with some of the group at the fences. Others would run for the high towers and take out the creatures on the yard.

"We can pick off these walkers," Rick finished passionately. He gestured with his giant knife. "We'll take the field by tonight."

"But how do we shut the gate?" Hershel asked.

"I'll do it," Glenn volunteered. "You guys cover me."

Maggie immediately shook her head. "No!" she said firmly. "It's a suicide run!"

"I'm the fastest," he told her gently.

"No," Rick chimed in. "You, Maggie and Beth draw as many as you can over there. Pop 'em through the fence. Daryl, go back to the other tower. Carol," he turned to the slight, short-haired woman. "You've become a pretty good shot. Take your time; we don't have a lot of ammo to waste. Hershel, you and Carl take this tower."

"Right," the boy breathed, taking off with the older man.

"I'll run for the gate," Rick finished, somewhat ruefully, mostly to himself.

Despite her general suspicion of other people, Adair didn't like the idea. Rick was this group's leader, and her instinct told her he was a good man. She reached out and grasped his arm.

"No," she said softly. "Maggie's right. It's a suicide run, and you've got a wife, a boy, a baby on the way. These folks rely on you." She stared at him solidly. "I will run for the gate. I'd much rather take the risk than any one of your...family."

"I can't let you do that," he argued back gently.

She shook her head, taking a jogging step away from him. "I've made up my mind. I'm doing it. Don't worry, I'm fast." She reached the entrance, where Lori was standing, ready to pull it open for her so she could make her mad dash. She pointed back at Rick. "You just cover me."

Glenn, uncertain, slowly extended a length of heavy metal chain, connected by two clips, one on each side, to tie off and secure the gate once she reached it. She took it, nodding, gripping it in her left hand as she drew her Glock with her right.

She glanced back, seeing the others on the ground running for the fences, shouting to draw the walkers' attention toward them and away from the yard. They began lumbering toward them. Adair looked toward the yard, toward the gate, and swallowed nervously. _There were so many..._

She shook her head, stoic in her resolve. She could, and would, do this. She inexplicably felt she owed it to these people, to Rick, for extending his hospitality to her, a stranger. She looked at Rick, flicking her head up at him.

Rick frowned, but then sighed and nodded reluctantly. He unholstered his gun, lifting it, and then nodded to Lori. Lori looked into the girl's eyes, silently asking her if she was ready.

Adair nodded her readiness, and the woman pulled the fence open. Adair slipped in behind a large piece of machinery that she guessed was an old generator, her gun extended in front of her. She sidled around the edge of it, hugging it with her back, watching as some of the walkers lumbered toward the group shouting at the fence. She saw them take a few of the creatures out, their bodies dropping to the ground. Adair turned back and took a few running steps. She got a few yards before the walkers further up noticed her. They shambled toward her eagerly.

She fired to her left, the bullet neatly punching a hole in the creature's skull before dropping it. She immediately swung her gun to the right, blowing apart the head of a walker rapidly closing in on her. She was surprised and grateful for her aim. She hated to shoot with her gun hand unsupported, but her left hand held the gate closure. She felt a sudden rush of air to her left, and whirled, seeing a walker drop with an arrow through its skull. She glanced up to the tower, seeing Daryl holding his crossbow, pointed in her direction. _The second time he's saved my life_, she noted. She smiled briefly and nodded up at him, then turned. The path to the gate was clear, and she kicked her legs into overdrive, sprinting for it.

She heard the rifles and guns going off intermittently, hearing and seeing bodies drop all around her. She prayed everyone's aim was good enough to spare her as she continued for the gate at a dead run.

She stopped short when a couple bullets hit the ground directly in front of her toes and looked up wildly.

"Sorry," Carol called down to her.

_Seriously? _her mind shouted. She filed it away and her legs started moving again. She pushed herself to regain the momentum she had just lost, pumping her arms.

She lifted her gun to blast through the forehead of another creature, and finally she was at the gate. There was a walker just inside, starting to lumber through the opening toward her, and she used her momentum to throw a booted foot into its solar plexus, knocking it backward several steps. She grasped the edge of the gate, hauling it closed, panting. She clamped one clip down, stretched the metal chain over the seam of the gate, and clamped the other clip on the other side.

She whirled like a dancer to face back the way she'd come, taking out two more of the walkers closing in on her before grabbing the handle of the door at the base of a guard tower, to her immediate right. It had a sign on the front that said "Authorized Personnel Only" and for some reason it made her laugh out loud. She yanked the door open, firing into the skull of the walker inside, before hopping in and slamming the door closed behind her. She leaned against the door for just a moment to catch her breath before sprinting up the stairs to the top of the tower. She lifted her Glock in a salute toward the other guard towers, hoping they saw her from across the field, and then took aim.

"Light it up!" she heard Daryl bellow faintly from across the field, and gunshots began to rain down on the remaining walkers.

Adair took aim, using the rest of her remaining mag to fire one shot at a time. There was only one walker she shot that she thought maybe she'd hit in the chest instead of the head; it was probably about a hundred yards out so she couldn't be sure, but she'd check soon enough.

Finally, all of the walkers in the field and the yard were down. Adair automatically dropped her empty mag and slammed the full one from her bra home, stuffing the empty one down her bra. She hoped these people had some extra ammo laying around for her to reload with. She watched as the group by the fence, and the shooters from the other towers, started across the field. She couldn't help smiling as she heard whoops and laughter. It was like music to her ears.

O:O:O

Daryl leaned back in the soft grass that night. The group was gathered around the fire, eating the squirrel that he and Adair had hunted earlier that day. He felt more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a very, very long time.

"Mmm," Glenn said sarcastically, pulling meat from the bone with his teeth. "Just like mom used to make." He hurled the bone away.

"Thanks again," Lori said softly, drawing Daryl's attention. "To you and Adair. We would have gone hungry tonight without you two."

"Why isn't she eating?" Maggie asked, stretching out beside Glenn.

"She insisted on taking watch," Lori replied, nodding to where the girl paced back and forth slowly on top of the generator, facing the fences and field beyond the prison. "She's done a lot for us today."

As the conversation shifted to what to do with bodies and the importance of keeping them away from their water source, Daryl studied the girl. In the excitement of the day he hadn't really taken a good look at her. He noticed her fine black hair hung long and straight from a high, messy ponytail at the crown of her head. She wasn't too tall, five foot five at the outside, and she had a slender but athletic build. She wore ripped denim shorts and a dirty, loose white tank top, although she had slipped a long-sleeve, loose-fitting lightweight sweater on when the sun went down. She had well-worn boots on, laced up to the calf that might have been Army combat boots. They were sure to be bloodstained as well, if her experience had been anything like theirs. He glanced ruefully at his own stained boots stretched out before him.

She held her rifle easily as she slowly paced back and forth. He could tell she was comfortable with the weapon, to his relief. There was nothing worse than seeing a rifle in inexperienced hands. _Carol, _he thought wryly, glancing at the woman. He shifted his attention back to the woman. He wasn't sure why she was going all out for them, helping them at the house, hunting with him, making the suicide run and now taking watch. She seemed to be trying hard to let them know she was worth something, that she wasn't expecting to be taken care of.

Suddenly he reached out, grabbing one of the small plastic bowls of squirrel meat.

"She don't eat now, she's like to not eat at all," he told the group by way of explanation, rising with a grunt.

"Bring her this, too," Lori said, extending a bottle of water. He took it from her and headed across the field to the generator.

"Hey," he called. Adair stopped pacing and looked down at him.

"Hi," she replied. She leaned down to take the outstretched bowl and water bottle from him. "Thanks."

He grunted slightly as he pulled himself up beside her. "You didn't have to take watch, y'know," he said, watching as she popped some small pieces of the meat into her mouth. "One of us could have handled it."

"You guys need rest," she replied, her fingers traveling quickly from her mouth to the bowl and back again.

He noted the way she chewed fast, hungrily. "When's the last time you ate?"

She glanced at him as she took a long pull from the bottle of water. She lowered the bottle, still staring at him with a bemused expression, as though she were really trying hard to remember. "I think…maybe two days ago?"

He shook his head, although he could unfortunately relate. She stopped chewing suddenly and looked up at him. "Everyone in your group has had some, right?"

"Yes. Eat," he commanded. "Don't worry. We had enough to go around."

Her delicate fingertips hovered over the bowl. "What about the pregnant woman? She needs this more than any of us."

"She has some," Daryl said. He pushed the bowl in her hands toward her gently. "Go on."

She glanced up at him again doubtfully, but he flicked his head at her, and she dug back in. He took in her small, slightly hawk-bridged nose and high, sculpted cheekbones. He remembered her telling them she was half Cherokee.

"What was your mama?" he asked suddenly. Adair's head lifted in surprise at the seemingly random question, a bit of meat poised in front of her mouth.

"I'm sorry?" she said, polite but confused.

He shrugged. "Said your daddy's Cherokee. Just wondered what your mama was."

He watched as her full lips closed around one fingertip, pulling gently at the grease the meat left there.

"She was French and Irish," Adair replied. "I mean, she personally wasn't from either of those countries, but that's where that side of my family is from. My granny, her mama, was actually from Ireland though. I used to love to hear her talk. Hear her stories of what it was like in the Old Country, as she called it, when she was growin' up." She smiled to herself at the memory, and he noticed for the first time a deep dimple in her right cheek.

He nodded. "So what did you do before the shit hit the fan? You said you were in Atlanta."

She smiled. "I'm not _from _Atlanta. I'm from Holly Springs. Went to Texas Tech, became an attorney. I moved to Atlanta about four years ago after I graduated and passed the bar. I worked at an agricultural law firm downtown."

"You're a lawyer?" Daryl asked incredulously. She looked pretty young. "How old are you?"

She looked amused, her pale eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"_Was _a lawyer," she corrected gently. She resumed eating. "And I'm twenty-nine. I was raised on a farm. That's why I know how to hunt, use guns. My daddy had a rifle in my hands by the time I could walk. Started training me on bows when I was eight. As I got older, I always wanted to be a lawyer. My daddy always said I had an acid-tongue and I used to get in trouble in school for debatin' the teachers in class, even when I knew they were right. I just wanted to see if I could talk them out of their opinions and sometimes it worked." She laughed out loud at the memory and Daryl smirked. "My teachers always used to kid me and say I was just feisty enough to pull off bein' a lawyer but it better not be criminal law or else I was like to piss off the defendants and get myself killed. Well, I always had a love for the farm so I knew I wanted to somehow work for the farmers too, for men like my daddy." She shrugged, taking another long drink of water. "So an ag lawyer I became. Best of both worlds. I really enjoyed it."

Daryl nodded, intrigued. A smart lawyer who knew how to hunt and use guns? The lawyer part might not matter these days, but everything else was a valuable skill that could definitely be an asset to the group.

A sudden movement caught both their eyes. By the gate, past the field, they saw Rick strolling past the building, holding his gun.

"That's his third time around," Adair observed.

"If there was any part of it compromised, he'd have found it by now," Daryl replied.

From across the field, a girl's soft, sweet voice met their ears.

_Beth_, Daryl thought. She was singing a song, something he didn't recognize. He turned back to Adair, who had a soft half-smile on her face as she listened to the song. He wondered if she knew it.

"Come on," he said to her, motioning with his head toward the group. He spotted Rick heading down toward the little merry campfire in the field. He turned back to the young woman, taking the now empty bowl from her. "Let's go take a load off."

He jumped down off the generator, reaching up to take the rifle from her so she could jump nimbly down herself. They walked back across the field toward the small group huddled by the fire.

Adair stood slightly back from the group, keenly aware she was an observer and not a member. She knew the song Beth was singing, however, and when Maggie joined in, Adair chimed in mentally.

_But since it falls unto my lot,  
That I should rise and you should not,  
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call,  
Good night, and joy be with you all.  
Good night, and joy be with you all._

Daryl glanced over his shoulder at Adair, checking to see if she was still by the group since she hadn't sat down. He was surprised to see her lips moving, mouthing the words to the song, a wistful smile on her face.

She caught him watching her and laughed quietly, seeming embarrassed. "It's an old Irish folk song," she explained softly. "My granny used to sing it to me all the time when I was a child. I've always loved it. It makes me feel like I'm at home again, whenever I hear it."

Though she was trying to speak in a low tone, to be heard only by Daryl, the rest of the group turned at the sound of her voice, listening to her words. She glanced around, her embarrassment at being overheard increasing.

"You should have sung along," Beth said, smiling.

"You two sang it just fine," Adair replied, returning the young girl's smile. "Beautifully."

"I'm not so sure about that," Maggie said with a rueful chuckle. "But thanks anyway."

The group fell silent again for the moment, and Adair watched as Carl passed Rick, who had silently crouched down between his son and his wife, a small red bowl with squirrel meat. He took a few pieces, the extended the bowl to his wife. She tried to wave him off, but he kept the bowl extended, not looking at her. Finally the dark-haired woman reached over and pulled out a bit of the meat, seemingly more to appease her husband than a real desire for it.

Adair tilted her head curiously. There was something strange about the dynamic between the husband and the wife, almost as though there was some unspoken strife between them. She'd noticed that Rick rarely looked her in the eye when he spoke to his wife, and that Lori often held a look of desperation in her eyes when speaking to him. She wondered what that was all about. Other than his doting on her out of concern for the unborn child, he seemed to be very cold toward her.

"Better all turn in," his voice broke into her thoughts. He nodded toward the generator that Adair had just abandoned. "I'll take watch over there. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" T-Dog asked from his prone position on the ground. All eyes shifted toward the leader.

"Look, I know we're all exhausted," he began, sighing. "This was a great win. But we gotta push, just a little bit more." He paused, glancing around at their tired faces. "Most of the walkers are dressed as guards and prisoners; looks like this place fell pretty early. Could mean the supplies may be intact. They have an infirmary. A commissary."

"An armory?" Daryl asked in his raspy voice.

"That'd be outside the prison itself, but not too far away," Rick nodded up at him. "Warden's office would have info on the location. Weapons, food, medicine. This place could be a gold mine!"

"We're getting dangerously low on ammo," Hershel's quiet voice spoke up. "We'd run out before we'd make a dent."

"That's why we have to go in there," Rick began then hesitated. "Hand to hand."

That was the main way Adair was accustomed to taking the creatures out, but with the sheer number of the walkers left, the idea was extremely disconcerting. She could see that unease mirrored in the faces around the campfire.

"After all we've been through," Rick continued passionately, "we can handle it. I _know _it." He glanced around at everyone again then smiled down at his son. "These assholes don't stand a chance," he said, rewarded with a grin from Carl.

Rick slowly rose to his feet to head to the generator for watch. Lori rose to go after him. Adair watched them for a moment, until she heard Daryl speaking to her.

"We've got an extra sleeping bag and pillow somewhere," he told her. "In the truck I think. Get you set up here in no time, then you can get some rest."

"What's their deal?" Adair asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her. She nodded in the couple's direction, seeing them engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion.

Daryl sighed heavily, and she glanced over at him. He paused, like he wasn't sure if he should say anything. Finally, he said, "Kind of a long story, but the punch line is that the baby she's carryin' might be Rick's best friend's. Who he had to kill, then came back as a walker. And then Rick witnessed his own son put him down again."

Adair was slightly taken aback. "Whoa. Um, that's a lot."

Daryl shrugged. "They got plenty more issues beyond that, but that's the gist."

Adair nodded, feeling even sorrier for the couple than she had before. No wonder Rick could barely stand to look at her.

Fatigue suddenly overwhelmed her, and she yawned hugely, covering her mouth. "Sorry. I actually have a sleeping bag, it's attached to my rucksack." She nodded toward her small pile of belongings in the grass, just beyond the fire.

"You in the Army, or something?" Daryl asked curiously. Between her obviously government-issue combat boots to the rucksack, it screamed military.

"No," she replied. "When I was in Atlanta, at the hotel, right before I left, I searched around for extra supplies to take with me. Don't know if you remember but the National Guard was called into Atlanta pretty early on. Well, part of a unit had taken refuge in the hotel where I was stayin'. I came across a group of female soldiers. Well, I s'pose they weren't soldiers any more at that point." She shook her head sadly. "After I put 'em down, I went through their things. Took that rucksack, a sleepin' bag. Two pairs of boots." She offered him a wry grin. "Helps that size seven is one of the most common shoe sizes for women. Two of the females had size seven boots so I took 'em both with me. Took some MREs, all the toiletries I could find on them. Some extra clothes. Canteens. And that was that."

"Gotta be heavy as shit," Daryl replied, looking at the overstuffed bag.

"Yes," Adair agreed, nodding. "It is heavy as shit. But I guess the longer you walk around with it, the less you notice."

"You were by yourself, this whole entire time?"

She hesitated, her eyes darkening. She glanced away for a long moment, then sighed. "No. In the early days of the outbreak, I met up with a group of about thirty survivors. A dozen men, the rest women and kids. I stayed with them for exactly two days and two nights before I got the hell out of there."

"What happened?" Daryl asked, studying her face.

She looked down at the toes of her boots. "At first they seemed so nice. Took me in without a question, gave me food, water. But I very quickly came to notice that the men had certain expectations of women. They – _we _- were there to cook, to clean…" She trailed off, folding her arms. "To lay down with them, whenever they wanted," she finished.

Daryl made a noise of displeasure deep in his chest. He always hated shit like this.

"My first night there, I was huddled up in my sleepin' bag, just watching. I saw five or six women get pulled off." She paused. "Heard their screams for the next hour. Well, one or two screamed. The others, they just stayed silent. Like that's how it was supposed to be, they were just doing their job. And I just lay there, not doing anything about it." She shook her head in shame, kicked at a raised patch of grass in the ground, and Daryl didn't like where he felt this was going. "Bein' one of eighteen women or so, I thought I could fly under the radar and not be noticed."

_Yeah fuckin' right,_ he thought, his eyes going over the woman's striking, exotic features. In a sea of blonde and brunette white women, this raven-haired, mixed-cultured woman would stand out like a sore thumb, especially in a small group of less than twenty women.

"By the second day, the men had noticed me," Adair continued, and Daryl was surprised it had taken them _that_ long. "They started makin' advances during the day, callin' me 'the little squaw'." She made a face, catching the annoyance on Daryl's. "I mean, come on. How original, right." She smirked a little when he snorted. "Anyway, that night, I was tryin' to disappear in my sleepin' bag again, but, well…they decided it was my turn. About half the men dragged me out to the woods. And like me the night before, the other women just lay there. No one tried to help me. I guess it was punishment for me not tryin' to help them either. Anyway, I didn't keep quiet. No, sir. I screamed bloody murder until someone put a hand over my mouth. They forced me to the ground, pulled my pants down, my shirt up." Daryl shifted uncomfortably. This was definitely headed in a direction he was already hating. "One guy held my arms. Another held my legs. Well, I tell you what, I did what I could do. I started buckin' my hips up as hard as I could, using my thighs as leverage. I got one leg free and kicked one guy in the face. I damn near bit the finger off the hand over my mouth." A small, wicked smile crossed her face. "I can still taste his blood. I put up such a fight, them guys didn't get off more'n a squeeze here and there. The main guy decided I was too much work and told them to get the easier women. Then he cuffed me across the face and gave me this." She tilted her head to show Daryl the long, jagged scar on the underside of her right jaw. It followed along her jawline before dropping sharply down into her throat. "When they left me, I went and grabbed all my shit, and when they were distracted with another woman, I got the hell out of there." She stopped again, heaving another sigh. "It hurts my conscience every day though, about those women. I did _nothing_ to help them. I let them get raped." She clasped her bottom lip between her teeth. "I can still see their empty faces, hear the screams. I didn't do a damn thing."

"You did what you had to do to survive," Daryl said simply. She looked over at him sharply, seeing absolutely no judgment for her action, or lack thereof, in his face. "This is a whole different world we live in. And it's dog eat dog. You did what you had to do."

She nodded silently, pursing her lips, her eyes dropping down to the toes of her boots again.

He cleared his throat. Her story disturbed him deeply, but he was glad that she'd made it out, relatively unscathed. "I – I'm real sorry for ya," he said gruffly. "Sorry that happened to ya."

She smiled at the ground then, a real smile, her dimple digging into her cheek. Finally she looked up at him. "Don't be," she said. She cocked her head, her eyes sparkling. "I ain't no victim."

He smiled appreciatively, and they stood in comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the cool night air. It would almost have been a picture-perfect, normal Georgia summer night except for the faint moans and shuffling noises of the walkers beyond. He sighed inwardly, suddenly remembering their task the next day.

"Best turn in," he said, gesturing toward her things. "You need to get your rest. You got a pillow?"

"No. Just the sleepin' bag."

"You can have mine," he offered brusquely.

"You keep it," Adair replied evenly. "I don't need no pillow. What about your rest?"

"Gonna catch a few hours, then relieve Rick."

She nodded. "All right, then. Thanks for listenin' to me. Good night." He watched her turn on her heel and saunter over to her things. He lifted an eyebrow curiously as she pulled her sleeping bag and rucksack even further away from the group. She sat down, removing her boots and socks and sweater, folding it neatly and setting it in the grass beside her.

She gave him a quick salute before lying down and disappearing into the folds of her sleeping bag, her long black hair the only thing he could see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note - Holy chapter three typos, Batman...sorry about that, y'all. I think I have it all cleared up now. Special shout out to NoirChick, piratejessieswaby and Demi187 for your reviews!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Bodies by Drowning Pool; House of the Rising Sun by the Animals**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's cannon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 4**

"Ready?"

Rick, poised at the fence that opened to the yard, nodded to Hershel. The elderly gentleman wrenched the fence open, and Rick, T-Dog, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie and Adair poured through, immediately launching into action to clear the yard.

For several long moments, only one or two terse words were exchanged as the group fell on the walkers approaching them.

"Maggie!" Adair said sharply, drawing the girl's attention to a walker closing in on her from the left. Maggie turned quickly and jammed her knife through the creature's eye socket. She nodded to Adair and gave her the thumbs up.

Adair held both of her knives tightly in her hands. Two walkers lurched toward her, making their disgusting hissing, gurgling noises. She ducked quickly to the right behind one of them, fast, low, standing up quickly and using the momentum the thrust her knife upward through the back of one's skull. Without withdrawing her knife or letting it go, she whirled around backward, jabbing the knife in her left hand into the temple of the second walker.

"Come on," she heard Rick mutter, and she turned to see him crouching low, an instant before he stabbed a walker wildly then slashed at another.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group was back behind the fences, using a similar strategy to yesterday afternoon's. They shook the mesh fences, shouting to draw the walkers' attention, and then proceeded to slaughter them through the fences.

Adair nearly lost her footing when she felt cold fingers grasp her shoulder. She dipped that shoulder low, whirling around, skipping backward a couple steps, only to stumble slightly over a leg of a dead walker.

"Whoa!" she shouted then felt a firm hand around her upper arm. She twisted wildly, bringing her knife up, when she realized it was Glenn, righting her. She stopped the knife just short of his wide eyes when she saw that it was him. "Thanks!" she breathed, then barreled forward toward the walker that had grabbed her, shoving it backward onto its ass before slamming the blade through the top of its skull.

Suddenly, T-Dog sidled quickly away from their huddled formation.

"Don't break rank!" Rick shouted to him. Adair turned wildly to see where the burly man had gone to, trying to see if she could cover him. T-Dog shouted something back, she couldn't make it out, because her attention was drawn to another handful of walkers lurching toward them.

She and Maggie ran toward them simultaneously, slashing and jabbing until the bodies fell to the floor in a heap. They leapt back into formation.

"Almost there!" Rick called to them. He tried a door to one of the buildings. The group moved toward the corner of the building. They saw an enormous herd of walkers behind an unsecured gate and quickly pressed back against the wall.

From their exposed side, they saw a few walkers dressed in guard uniforms shuffling toward them. Daryl tried sending a bolt into one of them. It bounced uselessly off the heavy duty material of the face mask. Rick and Glenn rushed forward, swinging their knives in a chopping motion. The metal collided with the armor and they couldn't make a dent.

A guard leered in Adair's face. It gnashed its teeth, but she realized it couldn't do her any real harm as the face mask was in the way. It pressed against her uselessly. She grimaced and grabbed the top of its helmet, pushing it back to lift the bottom edge of the mask. When she spotted exposed flesh, she jammed her knife up through its chin as hard as she could. When she pulled back, it fell over, dead.

She turned to see her struggling comrades observing her, pushing off the uniformed guards. "Like that!" she shouted to them. She briefly registered seeing nods before she turned to attack the next walker that fell upon her. This one wasn't uniformed, which she was almost starting to view as a blessing. They were a little trickier to kill, but having that added layer of protection between her soft, human flesh and their gnashing teeth was nice.

She knocked the creature back as hard as possible, then swept its feet out from under it before slamming her knife through its skull.

Rick had reached the gate. "_Daryl!" _he shouted, barreling into a guard and knocking it, and himself, completely over.

Daryl looked up from his fight, and quickly finished off the walker in front of him before chopping and slicing his way through a few more as he rushed to Rick's side. Together, they hurriedly shut the gate and latched it, effectively corralling the enormous herd, before turning to assist the rest of the group with more of the uniformed creatures.

"Watch your fingers!" Adair shouted, knowing that their exposed fingers through the mesh fence could serve as a snack for anyone of the dozens of walkers.

"Clear!" Daryl called back.

Everyone was able to dispatch them by tilting their helmets either forward or back and plunging their knives into the exposed flesh.

Adair turned, withdrawing her knife from a skull and starting to tremble with fatigue, seeing Rick knock over a guard. He leaned down to pull the thing's helmet off, and Adair pressed the back of her hand to her mouth when she saw the melted flesh of the former guard completely slough off its skull, leaving two bulging eyeballs in a skeletal face. Rick groaned in disgust before slamming his knife through its skull.

Maggie rushed to take out one last guard, on the ground. Adair leaned over, panting, looking at the mass herd of walkers behind the mesh fence. She sincerely hoped it would hold. She glanced around. Save for the seething corralled herd, all of the walkers on the yard were dead.

The group began to run back the way they came, toward the opening in the fence, where the rest of their group was waiting anxiously for them.

"Stop," Rick commanded them. He was walking in the same direction, but backward, eyeing the herd. Everyone slowed, turning to take in the same sight.

"Well," Glenn hedged. "It _looks_ secure…"

"Hafta take a look at that courtyard over there," Daryl said, pointing across the way with his knife. He gestured to one of the creatures on the ground. "And that's a _civilian."_

"So the interior could be overrun from walkers from outside the prison," T-Dog said, sounding terribly dejected.

"Well, if there's walls down, what are we gonna do?" Glenn asked. "We can't rebuild this whole place."

"Can't risk a blind spot," Rick said, placing his hands on hips. He gestured behind him to a set of stairs. "We have to push in." He jogged off, the others on his heels. Adair saw the faces of the group members behind the fences fall, so she quickly lifted a hand toward them, nodding, hoping to reassure them. She caught Lori's eye, and the woman nodded back at her.

Rick pulled open a mesh door, which creaked loudly in protest. They ran up a short set of stairs, a mesh enclosure on their left and a building's wall to their right. At the top of the stairs was a dusty red door. Rick stepped back from it, readying himself, and Daryl snaked in on his right, reaching for the handle. He looked at Rick, waiting for the signal.

Rick nodded, and Daryl slid the door open. There was a cell door behind the red door, with iron bars, leading to a dark room. The group moved hesitantly, carefully to the cell door, listening. They heard silence.

Rick pushed the cell door open, while Adair slid the red door shut, bathing the room in gloom. She followed the group as they entered the open space of an empty cellblock.

There were a few round tables in the center of the room. Everyone slowly stepped into the middle of the room, scanning with their eyes, listening intently for any sign of movement. Daryl lifted his crossbow and began to move silently, securing the area.

Sunlight poured in from barred windows in the high walls. Adair stepped into a pool of light as she glanced around. Their footsteps echoed dully against the hard cement walls. She moved in behind Rick as he headed toward a metal staircase. She nodded at him, indicating she had his back, and he returned her nod. He slipped quickly up the stairs, Adair on his heels. The staircase led to a tiny office, and he yanked the door open to reveal a guard, dead in a rolling chair. Rick poked the guard with his knife, and the man didn't stir. There was a splatter of blood on the window behind his head, and Adair wondered if he'd taken his own life.

When he was satisfied the man wasn't going to move, Rick reached forward and grabbed a set of keys hanging from the guard's belt. He made a final, quick circuit of the room before peering through the window at Daryl, holding the keys up in his hand. From below, Daryl nodded.

The keys opened the iron door to another cellblock attached to the room they'd entered. Rick reached through the spaces between the iron bars and fit the keys into the lock, turning them. He slowly pushed the door open.

They stepped slowly into the cellblock. There were two levels, a row of cells on the top, a row on the bottom. It was a fairly narrow room. A landing perch connected the upper level to the set of stairs that led back to the ground floor.

The floor was littered with debris as they moved slowly down the cellblock, weapons held at the ready. There were a few bodies in some of the cells. As Daryl and Rick moved to the upper level, they discovered a few walkers in the cells, which they quickly dispatched. They yanked the bodies out, and threw them over the side to the floor below.

The group worked steadily to clear the cellblock of all of the bodies. They added them to the pile on the yard, bringing the rest of the group in with them and their baggage.

As the group carried their belongings inside, Rick walked back down the metal stairs. "What do you think?" he asked.

Glenn, ever the rapier's wit, offered back, "Home, sweet home."

"For the time being," Rick amended.

Lori walked in behind Glenn, taking in the new surroundings. "It's…secure?" she asked doubtfully.

"This cellblock is," Rick replied.

"What about the rest of the prison?" Hershel asked.

"In the morning, we'll find the cafeteria, the infirmary," Rick said.

"We sleep in the cells?" Carol asked.

"Found keys on some guard," Rick said. "Daryl has a set too."

"I ain't sleepin' in no cage," Daryl announced from above. "I'll take the perch." He moved down the upper row of cells, setting his crossbow down on the large platform.

"Come on," Lori said to the rest of the group. Everyone moved to claim cells.

Adair walked up the stairs, deciding on a cell at the very end of the cellblock. She was still with the group, but far enough apart from them that she felt she wouldn't intrude on them, and vice versa. She still wasn't sure how she felt about being there, but so far, her experience with them had been far better than the last group. She genuinely liked Rick, respected the way he strove to take care of them and lead them. In the span of a day, she'd eaten, slept, and battled alongside these people. That was the most human contact she'd had for the better part of an entire year.

She dropped her rucksack on the floor of her cell, pleased that it was relatively clean. Whoever had occupied it before she had arrived must have escaped before dying or turning. Either that, or there wasn't a prisoner there to begin with. She spread her sleeping bag over the cot mattress. She sat down, testing it, and was surprised at the relative softness of it. Of course, having slept in a bed maybe a handful of times over the past year, and spending most nights on floors or the ground, a single feather would feel like heaven at this point.

"All the way over here, huh?" Daryl's voice startled her. Adair looked up at him, leaning in her doorway. His hands reached above his head to grasp the top of the frame. He looked about as weary and grimy as she felt.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "Thought I'd…you know. Give people their space."

"You mean, you thought you'd take some space," he said.

She had to chuckle at his spot-on analysis. "We share squirrel one time, and the man thinks he knows me," she teased.

He smirked back at her. His face turned serious. "You ok, though? I mean, bein' here with us."

She half-smiled, appreciating his concern. Obviously, her story from the previous night hadn't set well with him. Funny, the biggest thing that bothered her was not helping the women, not the actual attack, she mused to herself.

"Yes, thank you," she said. "I was just thinkin' a minute ago that the past twenty-four hours I've been with y'all have been the most time I've spent with actual people since I left the last group. And honestly, it's been very…nice."

He chuckled, gesturing to his bloody clothes and dirty skin. "You call this nice?"

Her smile deepened. "Yes, I do. Because it came from havin' each other's back, really takin' care of each other. That's somethin' I haven't experienced in a very long time."

He held her gaze for a beat, returning her smile with a half-smile of his own. He watched as her gray eyes grew sleepy, feeling fatigue wash over him, too.

"Get some sleep," he said softly, catching her nod as he turned to return to his perch. He heard her cot squeak as she settled back, and he sprawled on the hard floor of the perch, not bothering to unfurl his sleeping bag, pillowing his head on his bag.

The even, heavy, _human_ breathing of deep, secure sleep filled the prison and drew him to sleep like a sweet lullaby as gentle repose settled over the cellblock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note - The response to this new story has been great so far. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it and yes YOUR WELCOME (haha) for the 4 chapters yesterday :-) Shout-out to Fallon-Idalia, NoirChick, Leyshla-Gisel, piratejessieswaby, and for your reviewin' love :-)**

**Recommended soundtrack: Fell on Black Days by Soundgarden; Minute of Decay by Marilyn Manson**

**xoxo,**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 5**

Adair woke abruptly in the morning. In her unconscious sleep, she'd become aware of stirrings down below. Over the past year, she'd learned how to sleep lightly enough to hear any noise and quickly awaken.

_Nothin' like bein' caught with your ass out,_ she thought ruefully. She pulled out her toothbrush and the small tube of toothpaste she'd been making use of for the last month from a small bag stashed in her rucksack. She'd managed to snag a dozen hotel-size tubes during her sweep of the Atlanta hotel before she'd escaped, and she was using them as sparingly as possible to make them last. But she had a dry, icky taste in her mouth and wanted to clear it out as soon as possible.

She grabbed her bottle of water, seeing there were only a couple mouthfuls left. She took a quick drink, and then began to brush her teeth. She poured the rest in her mouth to rinse then spit everything back in the bottle. She ran her tongue over her teeth, satisfied when the fuzzy feeling was gone and her mouth felt fresh again.

Suddenly, fatigue overcame her and she sat down sharply on the edge of her cot. It squeaked loudly in protest under her weight. She put her head in her hands, her eyelids drooping.

She had no idea how long she stayed like that, until a rapping noise on the bars of her cell door brought her head up sharply, her eyes snapping open. She drew a breath deeply, the sudden intake of oxygen helping to de-fog her brain. _Waking up when you hadn't had enough sleep is almost painful_, she thought to herself.

"Rise and shine," a voice said gruffly. She squinted up, seeing Daryl's silhouette framed in the doorway. His body and face were cast in shadow, the sunlight that poured in from the windows across the room illuminating him, rays beaming out from around the edges of his body. It was almost angelic; she resisted the urge to cross herself.

"This a dream?" she asked groggily

His snort of laughter brought her back to reality and she flushed at her silly question. She shook her head rapidly to clear it.

"Ain't no dream," he scoffed. "Open up. I got some breakfast for ya."

She hauled herself off her cot and went to the door, sliding it open as her stomach rumbled hungrily. She accepted the fresh bottle of water he handed her along with a small plastic bowl of cold, leftover squirrel meat from the night before.

"Yummy," she said sarcastically, before tempering her words and tone with a smile. "Thanks." She took a long drink of water before stuffing her face with the squirrel meat. She gradually became aware of his eyes on her and she stopped chewing self-consciously.

"You ain't eatin' enough," he said.

Adair lifted an eyebrow. "_No one _is," she pointed out.

"Hopefully we'll find the cafeteria today," he continued. "Hopefully there's somethin' left for us to get. If not…we'll have to go huntin'."

Adair nodded and resumed eating. She'd picked up on his "we" reference and felt pleased that he accepted and appreciated her hunting skills. She wished for her compound bow, knowing she could bring down a nice-sized deer if there were any left in the area.

Soon enough, the little bit of meat in the bowl was completely gone. She looked at it for a moment, worry stabbing her heart. _What if there wasn't anything to find?_ She pushed the thought from her mind.

"Hey," she said, trying to change the subject to something less depressing. "Wanna hear somethin' funny?"

He didn't reply but lifted his eyebrows at her.

"Before all this happened, for like…" She broke off, furrowing her brow as she tried to remember. "For like twenty years, I was a vegetarian." She laughed, and he joined her with a chuckle.

"I started when I was eight or nine. I had finally found out that my farm critter friends were the things poppin' up on my lunch and dinner plate. So I told my mama and daddy that I wasn't gonna eat them anymore. I refused! I couldn't eat my friends, I told them, because it was _wrong_, they didn't do anythin' to deserve bein' eaten. But that's not the funny part. The funny part is I still kept huntin'!" She broke up into laughter. "In my little ol' brain, I thought that as long as I didn't eat them I was fine. But blowin' 'em apart, that was still ok."

"You was just a kid," Daryl chuckled at her.

"Right, except I stayed a vegetarian, and I stayed huntin' through my teenage and adult years," she chortled back. "I guess I felt like as long as _someone_ was gonna be eatin' the meat I hunted, it was ok. But it wasn't gonna be me. No, sir." She gestured with the bowl. "Now look at me."

"Gotta survive, somehow."

"I know it," she said. "And I didn't even hesitate. After the outbreak, the first MRE I ever found was beef somethin' or another. And I tore into that thing like it had been made, dehydrated and packaged just for Adair Trottingwolf. Was sick as a dog afterward, too. But still I kept huntin', squirrel and rabbit, eatin' the meat until I was able to tolerate it. This," she lifted the bowl again, "this doesn't gross me out as much as people who have other references to other kinds of meat. This taste like chicken to me. If I remembered what chicken tasted like."

"You can't remember the taste of chicken? You haven't eaten it yet?" Daryl asked incredulously.

"Only the powdered kind in an MRE, and I don't think that counts," Adair replied. "Besides, twenty years is a long time to not eat somethin'. Only natural I'd forget the taste."

"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "That just ain't right. Tell you what, when this is all over, I'm gonna cook you up a proper fried chicken dinner." He laughed, then stopped abruptly, realizing what he'd just said. He'd never in his life offered to cook a meal for a woman. He flushed slightly, glancing down at the ground.

She'd definitely picked up on what he said, her eyes twinkling, but was gracious enough not to remark on it. Instead, she said, "Are you tryin' to tell me _you_ can _cook?"_

He snapped his head up. "Are you kiddin' me? I've had to fend for myself damn near my whole life. I ain't never had no one to take care of me. I had to learn how to cook, and right quick too." He paused, then glanced at her again. "Can you cook?"

She got up from the cot and walked toward him, a mock-scowl on her face. She shoved the empty bowl against his chest.

"How dare you. I'm a proper Southern belle. Of course I can cook." She flashed him a coquettish grin and brushed past him, heading for the stairs. After a moment, he half-grinned to himself, shaking his head at his own inadequacy, and turned to follow her.

They joined Rick, T-Dog, and Hershel after their meager breakfast. The men were going through the items and weapons they'd taken from the walker guards. There was an array of batons, knives, guns, explosives and other items Adair didn't have names for spread out on the table, along with bullet-proof vests, gloves, and helmets.

"Not bad," Daryl said, cataloging the inventory with his eyes.

"Flash bangs," Rick said musingly, holding the small item in his hand up for inspection. "CS triple chasers. Not sure how they'd work on walkers, but we'll take them." He shrugged.

Daryl picked up the guard's helmet, making a face when liquidy goop from the former human's head came pouring out.

"Ew," Adair murmured, frowning.

He glanced at her then back to the helmet. "I ain't wearin' this shit." He wiped his hand off.

"We could boil 'em," T-Dog offered, dangling an equally goopy glove from his fingers.

"Ain't enough firewood in the whole forest, no," Daryl replied firmly. "Besides, we've gotten this far without 'em, right?" He picked up a police baton and took a practice swing.

"Hershel?" Carol's voice suddenly piped up.

The elderly man and Rick turned, knowing that Carol and Lori were sharing a cell.

"Everything all right?" Rick asked, concerned.

The question had been on Adair's lips as well, and she shifted her eyes anxiously to Carol, trying to peer over her shoulder in the cell at Lori.

"Yeah," Carol replied tightly. "Nothin' to worry about." She nodded to Hershel, and the elderly gentleman followed her into the cell, shutting the iron door.

Rick turned back to the table full of weapons, looking a bit shaken. Adair reached out and placed her hand gently over his, drawing his eyes. She gave him a half-smile and nod, furrowing her brow slightly, as if to say, "Don't sweat it."

He returned both her nod and smile, but his never reached his eyes. He kept flickering glances toward the cell. Adair could hear Lori and Hershel speaking in hushed murmurs, and she could hear sniffles coming from Lori.

Adair didn't want to think about what was being discussed. She reached for the baton that Daryl had laid down, testing its weight.

"All right," Rick said finally. "Maggie? Glenn? Let's saddle up."

They helped each other strap on the guards' bullet proof vests – Adair making sure hers was as goop-free as possible – and passed out flashlights, reloaded guns, and made sure knives were nice and sharp.

A movement from above caught her eye and she glanced up, seeing Lori on the walkway, leaning on the railing. Adair nudged Rick subtly, and when he glanced at her, she flicked her head upward, almost imperceptibly. He glanced upward and spotted his wife. He met her gaze for an instant, then turned away.

Carl was struggling to put on one of the guard's helmets. Adair watched him in alarm, wondering if the goop had been cleaned out.

Daryl elbowed her, seeing the disgusted look in her widened gray eyes. "It's clean," he muttered to her, flashing an amused half-grin. Adair rolled her eyes upward in relief in response, then turned so he could fasten her vest tightly around her back.

"You won't need that," Rick informed his son, stepping over to take the helmet from him. "Need you to stay put."

"You're kidding," Carl said, frowning.

"We don't know what's in there," Rick replied softly. "If something goes wrong, you could be the last man standing. I need you to handle things here."

Carl sighed at his father's words, replacing his sheriff's hat, but nodded, glancing at the group. "Sure," he said, and Adair hid a smile when she saw his little chest puff out, just a bit.

Rick noticed too, and smiled. He handed Carl the keys. "Great." He turned to the rest of the group. "Let's go."

As they exited, Adair noticed Hershel, also wearing a protective vest, heft a bag of weapons over his shoulder. She felt concerned that he was coming; his advanced age combined with being the only medical expert the group had wasn't worth risking, she felt, but apparently Rick thought he needed him on this particular expedition.

She could see similar concern in Beth's face as she watched her father stride after Rick. Adair reached out and patted the girl's shoulder briefly, offering a smile. "He'll be ok," she whispered. Beth smiled weakly bat, but reached up to pat her hand. Adair jogged after the group, hearing Carl shut and lock the main cellblock door behind them.

They entered a dim hallway. Rick shined his torch down further so they could see they were coming up on a corner, turning sharply to their right. He took a deep breath, glancing back at them, then whipped around the corner.

The hallway they were in, Adair saw, was another abandoned cellblock. There were corpses scattered around the floor. She eyed them warily, her Glock in her right hand and her largest knife clutched in her left. She heard a canister being shaken and risked a glance over her shoulder, seeing Glenn spray painting an arrow on the wall in white paint, indicating their path back to their new home. She turned to face the front, then turned again so sharply she pulled a neck muscle when she heard Maggie let out a muffled cry. She relaxed when she saw the girl had just bumped into Glenn, who laid a calming hand on her shoulder.

Adair turned back around, following behind Daryl and Rick as they reached another junction. The two men paused, shining their lights down another empty hallway, save for a few more bodies. They turned the corner as a group and moved slowly down, Glenn marking the wall with another white arrow. There was yet another turn to make at the end of the hall.

"Watch it," Daryl's low murmur startled her, and she glanced at him questioningly. He pointed down, and she saw a corpse that looked like it had its bottom half gnawed off. She made a face and lifted her boot as they turned down yet another short corridor. Daryl's light scanned the hallway up and down, from side to side, before they reached another turn.

Adair sighed inwardly. Her adrenaline was high, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She almost would prefer _something_ happen so she could put her body's alert systems to use, rather than wait for them to give her a heart attack…

As they swung the corner, she heard the telltale hissing noise and gasped, seeing a large group of walkers, inmates by their uniforms, lurch toward them.

_Shit! Dammit, Adair!_ She cursed herself for her thoughts, already taking a few running steps backward to put some distance between them and the creatures.

"Go back…go back!" Rick's harsh whisper broke through the darkness. The group collectively tucked ass and ran for all they were worth.

_God bless you, Glenn! _Adair thought, following the arrows the Asian boy had so smartly thought to paint. She slowed to round a corner, took two running steps and skidded to a halt. Walkers were stumbling toward them, from the direction they needed to be going.

She felt a hand grab the back of her vest roughly. She had an instant to meet Daryl's steely blue gaze before he swung her around the opposite direction.

"That way!" he said roughly. "I got the rear!"

Adair fell in step behind Maggie and Glenn. They rushed down a hallway, at first seeming clear, only to encounter more walkers.

"Where the hell are they coming from?" she shouted.

"This way!" Glenn called. He back-tracked a few steps, yanking open a white door. He, Maggie and Adair spilled into what appeared to be a small dark closet, and huddled there. Adair reached up to grasp the handle, holding it shut with all her might. She didn't think the walkers would be able to figure out how to use a handle, but she didn't expect them to virtually surround and cut them off, either. Whether or not that had been intentional she'd never know, but it was highly disconcerting, just the same.

It took her a minute to realize they were separated from the rest of the group. Her heart sank as the sound of the hissing, gurgling monsters pounded and scraped at the door.

_Shit. On. Toast! _she cursed to herself. _You just had to go and wish for some action, didn't you. Well done, Trottingwolf._

:O:O:O:

Rick, Hershel, T-Dog and Daryl sat panting in a corner, hiding from the stumbling herd. They'd ducked into some sort of small office, waiting until the walkers passed.

"Where's Glenn, Maggie and Adair?" Rick whispered.

"We have to go back," Hershel whispered back insistently.

"But which way?" Daryl hissed. He was angry with himself for not keeping better track of the three missing members of the group. He assumed they'd been able to find a hiding place, as he hadn't heard any screams. But he didn't know if they were trapped or cut off.

Rick glanced at them for a moment, then silently rose, edging for the door. He opened it, wincing when is creaked slightly. They followed him back out into the hallway where they'd seen the trio go.

"Maggie? Glenn?" Hershel whispered loudly. "Adair?" He continued on down the hallway.

Hearing the whispers, the small trio in the closet exchanged a look and scrambled to their feet.

"Rick?" Glenn called.

"Dad?" Maggie said tremulously. "Dad!"

They heard bootsteps backtracking. "Mag?" Hershel called out hesitantly. Suddenly, they heard him scream in pain. "No! No!" he shouted.

The small group raced in the direction of the sound, Maggie stopping short when the retort of a gun echoed off the hard walls.

Adair crashed into her back. "Maggie?"

Glenn tugged her hand. "Maggie, let's go!" They picked up their pace, rounding a corner, and a terrible sight met their eyes.

Hershel sprawled on the ground on his belly. His eyes were filled with pain, his arms reached out. One of his legs was a mess of blood, tissue, and ligaments. Adair's eyes shifted in horror to the walker laying against the wall. It had a bullet hole in its head and fresh blood smeared around its mouth.

Maggie screamed in horror, frozen. Adair rushed past her to help Rick hoist the elderly man off the floor.

"Daryl!" Rick shouted, jerking his head back the way they came.

Daryl rushed forward, his crossbow up and pointed, flashing his torch on a group of walkers staggering toward them.

"Come on!" Rick yelled. He and Adair balanced Hershel's weight evenly between them and they scuttled along as quickly as they could, T-Dog leading, Glenn and Maggie behind, Daryl bringing up the rear. They came upon a set of double doors, the handles chained together. T-Dog pushed through with the bolt cutters he'd brought, and in no time had the doors open. The group spilled inside a sunny room, Daryl and T-Dog slamming the doors shut and throwing their weight against them.

Adair and Rick stumbled to the middle of the room, laying Hershel down as gently as possible. Adair gasped. The man was bleeding crazily, his eyes wild with pain as he moaned. Maggie held her father's head, sobbing.

Adair used her knife to rip Hershel's pant leg up to the thigh, folding the material back to expose the wound.

"What should we do?" she cried.

Rick got a look of almost sickened determination in his eyes. Adair watched as the man quickly undid his belt, reaching down to tie the leather around Hershel's leg tightly. She had little medical knowledge, but instantly she knew where he was going with the action. She swallowed in dread as he pulled an axe from the bag of weapons.

"Only one way to keep you alive," Rick told the man, an instant before bringing the axe crashing down.

Adair let out an involuntary cry, jumping.

"Adair, hold him still!" Rick shouted. She quickly threw her weight across Hershel's mid-section to hold him down as Rick brought the axe down, over and over. Finally, blessedly, the elderly man passed out from the pain.

With one final blow, Hershel's leg was severed below the knee. Rick breathed heavily and rose unsteadily to his feet, groaning.

"He's bleedin' out," he said, his voice shaking. Daryl, who had moved over to them, suddenly shifted his eyes to something beyond Rick's shoulder.

"Duck," he said quietly and Rick immediately complied.

Adair looked up at Daryl in alarm as he rose swiftly to his feet, bringing up his crossbow. She followed his gaze, seeing a group of five or six men standing behind a mesh-enclosed counter across the room. They were real, live men, too – not walkers, and they held weapons. Daryl edged toward them, still holding his crossbow up.

Finally, one of them, a small, older, dirty blonde man in the front, spoke.

"Holy shit," he said, his eyes widening in disbelief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note - I'm excited that so many of you are liking this story so far. I've really enjoyed writing it. Shout out to the following homies for reviewing: Leyshla Gisel, Fallon-Idalia, FanFicGirl10, , Amanda(guest), Ashley(Guest), Guest (who are you? Thank you so much for your review!), MadeInIreland(guest), piratejessieswaby - appreciate y'all so much!**

**Also, I have a running list of music that inspires me as I write. I call it my "TWD Playlist". Let me know if you'd be interested in having me post this on my next author's note.**

**Recommended soundtrack: Bang Bang Bang Bang by the Soho Dolls; Do Ya Bad by Yung Joc**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 6**

Adair rose unsteadily to her feet, her eyes glued to the men who'd popped up like prairie dogs behind the counter. In addition to the older, blonde white man, there were three black men, one short and slim, one tall and very burly, the third tall but of medium build, and a young, tough looking Latino with shoulder length hair and a manicured beard.

In her haze, she wondered how he'd been able to keep it so neatly trimmed while in prison.

"Who the hell are you?" Daryl hissed, moving toward them.

"Who the hell are _you?" _one of them queried back.

Rick looked at Glenn, at the still-sobbing Maggie, up at Adair, who had drawn her Glock uncertainly, pointing it somewhere in between the prisoners and the floor.

"He's bleedin' out," Rick said frantically. "We've gotta go back! Put pressure on the knee. Hard! Hard!"

Glenn jumped forward, helping Rick move the unconscious, heavily bleeding man.

"Just come on outta there," Daryl said gruffly, keeping his crossbow trained on them. "Slow and steady."

Adair stepped up beside him, lifting her gun more confidently, training it on the second man to step out from behind the counter, as Daryl had drawn bead on the first.

The Latino, the first to step out, looked over Daryl's shoulder at Hershel. "What happened to him?"

"He got bit," Daryl replied evenly, not lowering his weapon.

"_Bit?"_ the Latino repeated, reaching for the gun in his waistband.

Simultaneously, Adair swung her gun around and pointed it at his forehead as T-Dog drew and aimed it at the man, as well.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy now," Daryl said calmly, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. The Latino swung his gun from T-Dog to Daryl, his eyes shooting from side to side frantically. "Nobody needs to get hurt!"

Behind them, Rick was speaking in a low, comforting tone to Maggie, imploring her to keep pressure on her father's wound. He sounded so calm, Adair marveled, never taking her eyes from the man with the gun. _Like Hershel is the only concern in the room…_

Glenn bravely stepped up, rushing past Daryl and shouldering past the prisoners to the back of the counter. "You have medical supplies?"

"Whoa!" the big, tall black man exclaimed. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

A sudden pounding on the door made them all the jump. _The walkers_, Adair suddenly remembered. In the frenzy of Hershel's wound and the tense situation with the prisoners, she had completely forgotten about them. Daryl had shoved a bolt through the handles of the door, but with the way it was moving, she wasn't sure how long it would hold out.

She quickly shifted her eyes back to the prisoners.

"Who the hell are you people, anyway?" the Latino demanded.

"Don't look like no rescue team," the older white man chimed in.

Rick, struggling with Hershel, who was up in a sitting position, shouted, "If a rescue team is what you're waitin' for, don't!"

Behind the counter, Glenn toppled a stainless steel table over, effectively clearing it of its contents, and rolled it quickly out to main area.

"Come on, we gotta go!" Rick called. "Come on, we need a hand here!"

"Go," Daryl said quietly to her. She looked over the prisoners once more before hastily tucking her gun in the waistband of her shorts and rushing over to assist Rick, Maggie and Glenn. Together, they hefted Hershel onto the table and rushed for the door.

"You crazy?" the small black man shouted. "Don't open that!"

"We've got this!" Rick shouted back. T-Dog yanked the arrow from the handles and scuttled backward. Immediately, a walker in a guard uniform pushed in, and T-Dog immediately shoved it back against the wall, quickly tipping its helmet and stabbing it upward through its chin.

"Daryl!" Rick called. "Daryl!"

Daryl quickly sidled away from the prisoners backward, never taking his eyes or crossbow off them, until he reached the door. The young Latino kept his gun trained on the hunter, as well.

"Let's go!" Rick said. "This way!"

They pushed through the hallways as fast as they could, struggling with the awkward table. Daryl brought up the rear, mostly moving backwards, expecting the prisoners to follow them at any moment.

"This way," Rick said again. Suddenly a walker lurched out. "No, no, back, back! Daryl!"

Daryl stepped up to send a bolt through the creature's skull, dropping it quickly. The found the arrows on the wall to lead them back to their cell, and Adair suppressed a cry of relief. She was terrified they were going to get trapped in the halls, with walkers pressing in on one side and the prisoners on the other. She struggled to re-grip the edge of the table, gritting her teeth as Daryl switched directions to take the lead and cover them from the front.

"Stop, stop!" he hissed suddenly. They paused, and Adair strained her ears, making out the faint sound of voices and footsteps heading in their direction.

_Fucking shit! _That was all they needed, the prisoners following them.

Daryl waved his arm at the group, ushering them on. "Go, go!" he whispered. They were almost there. The muscles in her arms and back strained under the weight of the table, but Adair would be damned if she was going to slow down. Daryl squeezed past them to unlock the door to the commons area between cellblocks C and D, pulling it open and standing aside so they could squeeze through with the heavy table, made heavier by the unconscious man on top of it.

"_Open the door!" _Rick bellowed as they rapidly came up to the locked door to cellblock C. "It's Hershel!"

Carl suddenly appeared, fumbling with the keys slightly before managing to unlock the door. They pushed through quickly.

"Oh my God!" Adair heard a female voice scream, but whether it was Lori, Beth or Carol, she couldn't be certain. She looked down at Hershel's pale, still face, dread knotting up her guts.

"Get him on the bed!" Rick commanded, and they navigated the table into an empty cell. Lori and Carol leaned forward and got a grip on Hershel, helping Rick, T-Dog and Adair heft him off the table and onto the cot. Adair couldn't help wincing as they placed the hurt man onto the mattress none too gently. She hoped the rough movement wouldn't make things worse for him.

Lori and Carol immediately moved to look at his would.

"Oh God," Carol cried. "Oh, I need bandages!" The blood flowed from his leg steadily, and Adair, ignorant of medicine, knew enough to know an artery had likely been severed.

"We used everything we had," Glenn said frantically.

"Well get more!" Carol shot back over her shoulder. "Anything!"

"Go get me the towels from the bag, baby!" Lori said to Carl. The boy immediately took off and Lori moved to comfort Beth.

"I need to keep his leg elevated," Carol panted. "Get some pillows!"

"He's already bled through the sheets," Adair cried in horror.

"We should clot the blood," Glenn said desperately. "I-I could start a fire?"

"No, please, don't do that," Beth begged tearfully.

"No," Carol said firmly. "The shock could kill him. And it's not gonna stop the arteries from bleeding. We're gonna have to keep it dressed and let it heal on its own."

"It's a little crowded in here," Lori suddenly said to Adair quietly, gently. She'd been watching the girl for a moment. "Maybe you could go give Daryl a hand?" She'd noticed the way the girl turned pale at the sight of all the blood-soaked rags and towels. _Funny,_ Lori mused, _she doesn't have a problem hunting or killing walkers. Maybe it's the sight of human blood she can't take_.

"Y-yeah," Adair mumbled, meeting the woman's gaze. She looked back at Hershel, her brow furrowing in sadness, before darting out of the cell.

She took a deep breath as she reached the cellblock door. She pulled it open, seeing Daryl standing at one of the little round tables, his boot propped up on the bench so his bent knee could support his elbow, his bow aimed at the door.

"You hear anything?" she asked him softly.

"They're comin'," he said, not taking his eyes off the opened door. "Get back inside. I got this."

"No way," she said. "The one guy has a gun. I ain't leavin' you to face a gun with a damn _bow_. No offense." She pulled her Glock out from the waistband of her shorts and took a classic shooter's stance, wrapping her supporting hand around the front of her gun hand, holding her weapon steady on the door.

Sure enough, not a moment later, the Latino followed by the other prisoners edged in through the door. He took in the weapons trained on them, looking at Daryl coolly.

"That's far enough," Daryl said in a low voice.

"Cellblock C," the Latino replied. "Cell four. That's mine, _gringo._" He stepped closer, and Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Let me in."

"Today's your lucky day, fellas," Daryl replied, an unmistakable bite to his words. "You've been pardoned by the state of Georgia. You're free to go."

"What you got goin' on in there?" the Latino asked, his eyes shifting toward the cellblock.

"Ain't none of your concern," Adair replied evenly, her gun trained on his forehead. The Latino glared at her.

"Don't be tellin' me what's my concern," he said threateningly, stepping toward her and pulling his gun from the waistband of his pants.

Adair gamely stepped toward him as well, her eyes narrowing, as Daryl moved quickly, smoothly to her side, his crossbow pointed at the Latino's face.

"Chill, man!" the tall, big black man. "Dude's leg is messed up. 'Sides, you're free now! Why we still in here?"

"Man's got a point," Daryl said, never taking his eyes from the Latino.

"And I gotta check on my old lady," the mid-sized black man said.

"Group of c_ivilians_ breakin' into a prison you got no business bein' in?" the Latino said skeptically. "Got me thinkin' there ain't no place for us _to _go."

"Why don't you go find out?" Daryl said, the same dangerous edge to his voice.

"Maybe we'll just be goin' now," the older white man said, looking back and forth between them.

"Hey, we ain't leavin'," the Latino protested.

"You ain't comin' in, neither!" T-Dog stepped out the cellblock, cocking and lifting his gun and pointing it at the prisoner's face.

The Latino pointed his gun back at T-Dog. "This is my house, my rules, I go where I damn well please!"

Despite the tense situation, Adair couldn't help rolling her eyes. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, in the old world and this new one, it was an overly macho male, and this fellow reminded her _a lot_ of one of the men in camp, who had partaken in her attempted rape. Rage she hadn't felt in over a year began to grow in her stomach, spreading like a warm shot of whiskey up through her chest, as she glared at him.

"I'm quite certain," she drawled, drawing the prisoners' eyes toward her, "that when the world went to shit, your little house and your little rules followed suit. The punch line, big boy, is that you ain't goin' in that there cellblock no matter how much you hoot and holler. Consider it a… foreclosure." She smirked at her own wit.

That Latino had slowly shifted his eyes toward her at her first words, and she watched a flame of fury brighten his eyes as he took her in. _Guess he don't appreciate my sense of humor._

"Wanna try that again, little bitch?" he spat.

"Not unless you want an arrow through your eye," Daryl hissed. "Not gonna tell you again! Take another step –"

"Or what?" the Latino challenged.

Rick came jogging out. "Hey, everyone, relax," he said, patting the air. "There's no need for this."

The Latino shifted his eyes between Daryl and Rick. "How many of you in there?" he asked.

"Too many for you to handle," Rick assured him, meeting his gaze steadily.

"You guys rob a bank or somethin'?" the prisoner asked. "Why don't you take him to a hospital?"

Adair looked at the prisoner in surprise. _A hospital? _she thought. _God, they didn't tell them anything!_ She saw similar looks of surprise on the faces of her comrades, T-Dog glancing at Daryl and Daryl looking to Rick.

"How long you been locked in that cafeteria?" Rick asked softly.

"Goin' on like, ten months," the prisoner replied, his eyes still moving warily from face to face.

"Riot broke out," the gentle giant, as Adair had begun to think of him, spoke up. "Never seen anything like it."

"I had to go on speed, man," the older white prisoner added.

"We heard about dudes goin' cannibal, dyin', comin' back to life," the smaller black man said. "Crazy."

"One guard looked out for us, locked us up in the cafeteria," the Latino said. "Told us sit tight, threw me this piece, said he'd be right back."

"And that was two hundred ninety-two days ago," the medium sized black man said.

"Two hundred and ninety-four," the white prisoner corrected him, "accordin' –"

"Shut up!" the Latino said peevishly, glaring at the small blonde man.

"We been thinkin' that the Army or the National Guard should be showin' up any day now," the medium-sized black man spoke again.

"There is no Army," Rick said softly.

"What do you mean?" the Latino demanded.

"There's no government, no hospitals, no police," Rick said. "'S'all gone."

"For real?" the blonde man asked, frowning.

"Serious," Rick replied evenly.

"What about my moms?" the gentle giant asked softly, almost to himself.

"My kids, my old lady!" the medium-sized man said. He started to get angry. "Yo, you got a-a cell phone or somethin', that we can call our families?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Daryl said.

"No phones, no computers," Adair added, shooting the man a sympathetic look.

"As far as we can see, at least half the population's been wiped out," Rick said. "Probably more."

A heavy silence fell over the group, as that last little tidbit of information dug in hard. The prisoners looked at the floor, covered their faces, shook their heads as the terrible tidings sunk in.

"Ain't no way," the Latino said, fear edging into his eyes ever so slightly.

"See for yourself," Rick invited him. He led the way to the door leading outside, sliding the red door back. Sunlight poured into the room as they stepped out onto the mesh enclosure.

"Damn, this sun feels good!" the gentle giant exclaimed, and Adair glanced over at him. Most of them had smiles on their faces despite what they'd just been told and it hit her that this was probably the first time they'd been out in the sun in over ten months. But the sight of the bodies of the dead walkers strewn all over the yard sobered them up quickly enough.

"Lord," the blonde man said, looking around. "They're all dead…"

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences," the Latino chimed in.

They walked a little further onto the yard, when the smaller black man spoke up.

"You never said, how did you get in here in the first place?"

"Cut a hole in that fence over there by that guard tower," Daryl replied, gesturing in that general direction with his bow.

"That easy, huh?" the small man said.

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Daryl said evenly.

"Easy for you to say."

The gentle giant stopped his pacing, looking down at the body on the ground in front of him. "So what is this, like a disease?"

"Yeah," Rick said. "And we're all infected." All eyes swiveled toward him at the words, including Adair. This was brand new information to her. Her heart suddenly began to thud rapidly in her chest, her stomach clenching and unclenching. She suddenly felt nauseous.

"What do you mean, infected?" the blonde man asked. "Like…AIDS or somethin'?"

"If I was to kill you," Daryl explained, "shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back as one of these things. It's gonna happen to all of us." He glanced over at Adair, suddenly very aware that she hadn't been informed of this prior. She stared at him, her large eyes wide, her normally creamy, olive complexion going pale. He'd long since made peace with it himself, but he felt slightly bad that she had to find out this way.

"Ain't no way this Robin Hood cat's responsible for killin' all these freaks," the Latino said doubtfully, looking at Rick.

"Must be fifty bodies out here," the smaller black man added.

The Latino turned to face Rick. "Where'd you come from?"

"Atlanta," Rick replied.

"Where you headed?"

"For now, nowhere," Rick said, the hint of an edge to his voice as he faced the young Latino. The prisoner made a show of scanning the area.

"Guess you could take that area down there, by the water," he said, pointing. "Should be comfortable."

Despite her terror at the information that they were all infected, her strong dislike for the man overtook her and she couldn't suppress a sharp bark of disbelieving laughter. Was he serious? _They_ had done the work of clearing out the yard, and he thought he was doing them a favor by kicking them out?

His eyes, along with everyone else's, turned to her.

"Thought I told you before," she drawled. "This ain't your house anymore and your little rules don't mean a damn thing."

He opened his mouth to retort but Rick held up a hand, silencing them both. He gave Adair a stern look that said _Let me handle this_ and turned back to the prisoner.

"We're usin' that field for crops," Rick informed him.

"Well, we'll move your gear out."

"That won't be necessary," Rick said, his tone quiet. "We took out these walkers, this prison is ours."

"Slow down, cowboy," the Latino returned.

"You snatched the locks off our doors!" the smaller man added, stepping up alongside the Latino.

"We'll give you new locks, if that's what you wanted," Rick said.

"This is _our _prison," the Latino insisted. "We were here first!"

"Only by the default of you bein' criminals, and all," Adair couldn't help saying. "I don't guess that entitles you to much, now does it."

"You know," the Latino began, still looking at Rick. For a moment Adair thought he was still addressing the man until he slowly turned and looked right at her. "It really gets my dick hard when little girls mouth off to big men."

"Is that right?" Adair asked, feigning innocence. Her skin crawled with her dislike for the man. "Sounds like a personal problem you should take up with your little butt-buddy there." She nodded toward the smaller black man, who whirled angrily to face her.

"Knock it off," Rick cautioned.

In response, the Latino smiled coldly, more of a grimace that never reached his eyes.

"Never noticed what a fine piece of pussy you got here," he said to Rick. He looked back at Adair and licked his lips. "Been a long time since I seen a woman." He took one step before Daryl's crossbow was in his face.

"Try it," the hunter said, his voice sharp. "You'll be dead 'fore you hit the ground."

The Latino turned his smile on Daryl, before stepping around the crossbow. He held up his hands innocently. "Why, you fuckin' her?"

"I said, knock it off!" Rick said louder.

"Or you?" he asked Rick. He grinned, his hands still in the air. "Jus' wanna talk to the lady." He looked back at Adair and took one step closer to her. This time, it was her weapon pointed at his face, bringing him up sharply.

"Whoa, there," she said calmly, an almost friendly tone to her voice. "One more step, I'll blow your head clean off, hoss."

"Like to see you try, little bitch," he spat, but he didn't move.

Adair frowned coldly at him, the gun still pointed at his forehead. "I don't really think you do," she replied. "I can drill a penny at three hundred yards."

"Enough!" Rick interjected. He turned to the Latino. "You were locked in a broom closet." He smirked. "We took it, set you free. It's _ours_. We spilt blood."

"We're movin' back into our cellblock," the Latino said.

"You'll have to get your own," Rick replied evenly.

"It _is _mine!" the Latino said angrily. He drew his six-shooter out of the waistband of his pants. "I still got personal artifacts in there, that's about as mine as it gets!"

"Think you mean 'personal effects'," Adair corrected with false politeness. The Latino turned on her angrily, bringing up his gun and pulling back the hammer. Daryl swung his crossbow up and at his face as Rick drew his gun. Adair didn't flinch, having never taken her gun off him in the first place.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the blonde man said, stepping between the two parties with his hands outstretched. "Maybe let's work out so _everybody_ wins!"

"I don't see that happening," the Latino said coldly, lowering his weapon. Rick lowered his, but Adair and Daryl kept their weapons up.

"Either do I," Rick replied, glaring at the prisoner.

"I ain't goin' back in that cafeteria for one more minute," the Latino hissed.

"There are other cellblocks," the blonde prisoner insisted.

"You could _leave_," Daryl offered bitingly. "Try your luck out on the road."

The prisoners exchanged some looks, considering that statement. Finally, the Latino spoke to his group.

"If these three pussies and their bitch can do all this," he said, gesturing at the dead bodies, "least we can do is take out another cellblock."

_That was too easy_, Adair thought warily. She met the Latino's eyes and glared.

"With what?" the gentle giant asked.

The Latino met Rick's gaze. "Atlanta here will spot us some weapons," he said. "Won't you, boss?"

Rick frowned at the man. After a moment, he asked, "How stocked is that cafeteria? Must have had plenty of food, five guys lastin' almost a year."

"Sure as hell don't look like anyone's been starvin'," Daryl grumbled, glancing around at the two larger prisoners.

"Only a little left," the Latino said quietly.

"We'll take half," Rick said in a reasonable tone. "In exchange, we'll help clear out a cellblock."

"Didn't you hear him?" The Latino's little sidekick piped up angrily. "There's only a little left!"

Rick smiled at the ground, then gestured with his pistol. "Bet you got more food than you got choices." Adair smirked. "You pay, we'll play," Rick continued. "We'll clear out a block for you, then you keep

to it."

"All right," the Latino finally agreed.

"But let's be clear," Rick said. "If we see you out here, anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent?" He stepped up, nose to nose with the prisoner. "I will kill you." He paused for a moment, searching the prisoner's eyes to make sure he understood.

The Latino smirked. "Deal."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note - Another update for y'all! Special thanks to MadeInIreland(guest), Leyshla Gisel and piratejessieswaby for reviewing!**

**Recommended soundtrack: The Little Things Give You Away by Linkin Park; Given Up by Linkin Park**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 7**

He led them back into the cafeteria. "Pantry's back here," he called over his shoulder.

"You never tried to break out of here?" T-Dog asked, looking around the room.

"We tried to take the doors off," the medium sized prisoner answered, "but if you make one peep in here, man, those freaks will be lined up by the door growlin', tryin' to get in." He gestured toward the back of the room. "Windows got bars on 'em that He-Man couldn't get through."

"Bigger than a five-by-eight," the blonde man added.

"Won't find me complainin'," the gentle giant chimed in. "Doin' fifteen. My left leg'll barely fit on one of those bunks."

"Yeah, they don't call him Big Tiny for nothin'," the medium-sized prisoner smirked. Rick smiled at the name.

"We done jerkin' each other off?" the Latino said from the doorway of the pantry, staring at them impatiently. "Sick of waitin' back here."

Rick narrowed his eyes, but followed the man toward the back, still clutching his pistol. The Latino led them back into an expansive pantry, and Adair's eyes took in huge burlap bags of rice, bulk-size cans of various meats and vegetables, sauces, canned fruit. Her stomach growled involuntarily as saliva filled her mouth at the sight. _This is a _little bit _of food?_ she thought, angry, as she recalled going days on end with nothing to eat, and when she did eat, it was a bite here, a nibble there, whatever she could find that wouldn't kill her. Sometimes, she was so hungry she'd eat spoiled or expired food and then would spend the next couple days paying for it, too sick to move.

Apparently, Daryl had the same thought. He stepped forward to shine his torch along the shelves. "This is what you call a 'little bit of food', huh?" he said coldly, echoing Adair's thoughts, stepping up toe-to-toe with the Latino.

"Goes fast," the prisoner replied, smirking.

"Mm-hm," Daryl said dismissively, shouldering past him.

The prisoner gestured toward the shelves. "Ah, you can have a bag of corn, some tunafish –"

"I said half," Rick interjected coldly. "That's the deal." He turned toward a heavy steel door in the wall. "What's in there?" He pulled the door open.

"Don't open that –" the Latino cautioned.

The smell hit Rick as he gagged and slammed the door shut. The prisoners burst into laughter. Adair delicately pinched her nose and turned away from the smell of ten months' worth of bodily waste from five grown men.

"He wanted to know!" the Latino crowed to his comrades.

The blonde man, who hadn't joined in the laughter, had the decency to look embarrassed as he glanced at Rick. "Can't wait for my own pot to piss in," he confessed quietly, to another chorus of laughs.

:O:O:O:

Adair struggled under the weight of the two full burlap bags she was carrying, one filled with rice, the other filled with corn. She trotted along behind T-Dog as quickly as she could, working to keep up with the large man's long strides.

"Food's here!" she heard him call out in front of him as the telltale squeak of the cellblock door being opened met her ears.

T-Dog carried several boxes easily. They were filled with cans and no doubt were heavier than both of Adair's bags combined, but he acted as though they weighed no more than a feather.

"Whatcha got?" Carl asked, grinning.

"Canned beef, canned corn, canned cans," T-Dog sang back jovially. "There's a lot more where this came from!" He set his boxes down and turned to relieve Adair of her bags.

Rick, carrying a set of bags as well, paused outside of Hershel's cell as Lori stepped out next to Glenn. "Any change?" he asked. Adair stepped over to get the update, her brow creasing with concern.

"Bleeding's stopped and no fever," Lori reported. "But his breath is labored and his pulse is way down and he hasn't opened his eyes yet."

Rick paused, then sighed. His arms were still full of bags, so he turned to Adair, turning his back to her. "Take my cuffs, put them on him." Adair stepped forward to pull the cuffs out of his back pocket gingerly. "Not takin' any chances." When the cuffs were free, he strode off toward T-Dog to set his bags down, Lori trailing.

"I can do it," Glenn said to Adair quietly. "I can do it." He held his hand out, and Adair placed the cuffs in his palm.

"How are you?" she asked. "How are Maggie and Beth?"

"Beth is optimistic," Glenn replied. He carefully closed one cuff around Hershel's wrist, attaching the other to the frame of the bed. He stood up, leaning on the bedframe to face her. "She's already altering his pants to accommodate his leg. Maggie…" he trailed off, sighing heavily and shaking his head. Adair reached out to pat his hand sympathetically.

"It's like she has _no_ hope, whatsoever," he said. "She's already talking about him in the past tense." Adair winced, glancing down at the elderly man. His color looked ok, she thought, but his chest was moving shallowly with his breaths as Lori noted,

"But no fever," Adair said. "That's a good sign. If he were truly infected, he'd be burnin' up like crazy right now."

"Yeah," Glenn said flatly.

"Keep your head up," Adair said softly. "For right now, he's alive. That's all that matters. One thing at a time. Let's don't outthink ourselves beyond this moment. He's alive, the bleeding has stopped, and he doesn't have a fever." She smiled encouragingly. Glenn offered her a reluctant half-smile.

"So, you guys found food," he said, obviously changing the subject.

"Yes," Adair said, going along with it. While she felt that Glenn could use a few more words of encouragement, she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. "We found quite a bit. We made a deal with those prisoners that if they gave us half their stash, we'd help them clear out a cellblock to stay in."

"That sounds sort of…dangerous," Glenn said doubtfully. "I mean, they're prisoners. They're not here for nothing."

"Well, you'd be surprised how many wrongfully judged people go to prison," Adair pointed out. "Not everyone in prison should necessarily be there. But with that bein' said, three of them seem like teddy bears. I don't know what their story is, but they strike me as decent fellas, maybe made some wrong choices but they ain't horrible men." She paused. "There is one that makes my skin crawl, though. He and I have exchanged a few welcoming words already."

"Why am I not surprised," Glenn said sarcastically. In the short few days he'd known their newest addition, her sharp tongue and quick wit hadn't gone unnoticed. He got the sense that she was the type who didn't take any kind of bullshit from anyone.

"This fella seems to be their unofficial leader. We had a bit of a pissin' match with him. I think between Rick, T-Dog, Daryl and I, we've all threatened to kill him at least once. He could be real trouble," she admitted. "Gonna have to keep a close eye on 'im. Him, and his little pipsqueak sidekick."

"So, _two_ prisoners we need worry about," Glenn said with a frown.

Adair shrugged and scrunched up her face. "More like one and a half," she said seriously. Glenn chuckled.

Rick headed back toward them and Adair looked quickly into his face, and back at Lori. She was staring after him wistfully. Rick's face was a smooth mask.

"Glenn, you'll continue to stay here, keep an eye on Hershel for me?" he asked the Asian man, gripping his shoulder. "Maggie needs you, too."

"Yeah, I got it," Glenn replied.

Rick turned to Adair. "We're gonna go see about getting the prisoners some weapons to clear the cellblock with, if you'd like to come give us a hand." He hesitated. "I only ask because you're good at handling walkers, but if you'd rather not, I compl –"

"It's fine," Adair interjected. "I'll be glad to give you a hand." She followed him out to the commons area, where the weapons they had found on the guards were laid out, _sans_ guns. In addition to the batons, there was an array of crowbars, wooden two-by-fours, and knives. She leaned against one hand on the table, the other hand on her waist as she watched the prisoners survey their choice of weapons.

The Latino picked up a crowbar, looking at it distastefully. "Why do I need this when I got _this?" _He held up his six-shooter.

"You don't fire guns," Daryl answered gruffly. "Not unless your back's up against a wall. Noise attracts 'em. Really riles 'em up."

"We'll go in two by two," Rick said. "Daryl, you're on point with T. I'll bring up the rear with you." He pointed at the small man. "Adair's in the middle between you two big fellas. Stay tight, hold formation, no matter how close the walkers get. Anyone breaks ranks we could all go down. Anyone runs off, they could get mistaken for a walker. End up with an axe to the head." Adair noticed he looked steadily at the Latino at his last words. They were unmistakably a warning.

"And that's where you aim," Daryl added. "These things only go down with a head shot."

"You ain't gotta tell us how to take out a man," the Latino said with a smirk.

Adair rolled her eyes. His arrogance was really irritating. "They ain't men, idiot," she snapped. "Oh, excuse me. I mean, 'killer'."

"You keep runnin' that pretty little mouth of yours, I'll come over there and put somethin' in it." He gave her that cold smile that sent chills down her spine and rage flooding her system. Unbidden, a memory of hot hands grasping her arms, holding her down, pulling at her clothing came rushing back to her. She felt her muscles twitching as she recalled her hard fight that night. She shoved away from the table and wrenched her knife from the sheath on the right side of her hip.

"Try me if you want, _puta_," she hissed. Rick grabbed her arm and hauled her off a few steps.

"You have got to _calm down_," he whispered, frowning.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered back harshly. "But he reminds me of someone that tried to hurt me once, and beyond that, well – he just really gets my Irish up!" She glowered at the prisoner over Rick's shoulder. "You're a cop, right?"

"Once upon a time," Rick replied dryly.

"Well, you've still got the instincts. You've _got _to be gettin' a bad vibe off him," she insisted. Daryl and T-Dog had watched them over their shoulders, before turning around to school the prisoners a bit more on the best ways to dispatch the walkers. "They're _all_ inmates but I don't get bad vibes from the other three, at all. But from him and his pint-size butt buddy, they're bad news, Rick, I'm tryin' to tell you."

"Shh," Rick said, patting the air in front of her. "I know. I know. Adair – I've got this, ok?" He lifted his eyebrows, silently asking her to trust him.

She frowned deeply. "Fine. But as soon as you turn your head or back, he's gonna try to put a knife in it. Mark my words." She sheathed her knife. "He makes one false step – I ain't hesitatin'."

Rick nodded and half-smiled at the small woman's sudden ferocity. "I know you won't. And I thank you." He patted her shoulder and turned back to the table.

"Had to go tattle to your daddy?" the Latino mocked, picking up a knife to test its weight.

"Man, just shut up!" Big Tiny said finally in exasperation.

"Come on, let's go. Get in formation," Rick said.

:O:O:O:

They headed slowly down a dank hallway, toward a cellblock. Adair walked on the balls of her feet, flanked by Big Tiny on one side and the other tall man on the other. She glowered at the Latino's back as he walked with the blonde man in front of her. She gripped her knives, silently daring him to try something so she could bury it in his flesh.

_God, when did I get so bloodthirsty? _she chided herself, shaking her head. _Forgive me, Lord…_

"Man, it's so damn dark down here!" Big Tiny complained. He clutched an axe.

"Hold it up high, out in front of you," Daryl cautioned him, glancing back over his shoulder. "Gonna hear 'em 'fore you see 'em."

"It's comin'!" the blonde man suddenly shouted.

"_Shh!"_ Adair hissed sharply. The group halted, Daryl holding up a hand to signal for a stop. She peeked between the bodies in front of her to see a shadow cast on the wall in front of her, indicating a walker was about to come lurching around a corner. A collective hissing, growling noise met her ears and her stomach tightened as she slowed her breathing, adjusting her grip on her knives. Daryl, Rick and T-Dog shined their flashlights in the direction of the noise. Three walkers stumbled around the corner. For a moment, no one moved. Adair nearly jumped out of her skin when the prisoners began shouting and charged forward to the walkers.

She felt Daryl's solid arm press back against her front, silently urging her to step back. She scuttled backward, standing between Rick and T-Dog, observing the prisoners as they did battle.

She sighed, annoyed, when she saw them taking body shots, trying out karate moves they'd undoubtedly seen in the movies, hitting the creatures everywhere except where it mattered – their heads. She slowly brought her fingers to her forehead, rubbing her temples against the annoyance-induced headache that had suddenly sprung up when she heard them start shouting things like "Come on, bitch!" "Want a piece of me?"

She glanced over, seeing her irritation reflected in the others' faces. Daryl watched them with a look of disgust on his face. Rick pursed his lips and shook his head, and T-Dog snorted in amusement at the spectacle.

Finally , Rick glanced at his group and gestured forward. She and T-Dog pushed into the fray. Adair swept the blonde man to the side, grabbed the walker by the front of its tattered uniform and drove her knife quickly into its skull, stepping back quickly. T-Dog dispatched the other walker as quickly. Daryl lifted his crossbow and let a bolt fly into the third's skull.

"It's gotta be the _brain_," he said. "Not the stomach, not the heart. The _brain!"_

Another small group of walkers staggered into the area, undoubtedly drawn by the shouts of the prisoners.

"I hear you, the brain!" the blonde man shouted. This time, he swung and made contact with one of the walkers' heads. "Like that?"

A tall walker came up and Rick stepped forward, thrusting his huge knife into its head. "Stay in tight formation, no more of that prison riot crap!" he chided.

The group of walkers was growing larger by the second. Adair jumped forward, bringing both of her arms down, plunging her knives simultaneously into two walkers' heads. She quickly yanked them out of their skulls before repeating the attack on two more walkers. She chopped and stabbed her way through a handful more when she felt a cold, dry had clutch at her arm.

With a cry, she whirled, slicing, moving away from the creature before stabbing into its head. _Big Tiny was supposed to be here,_ she thought, swiveling her head to look for him. _Where did he go?_

"Big Tiny's gone!" she shouted over the noise of the groans and hisses. She glanced over her shoulder. There was only one logical direction he could have gone, as he hadn't slipped out past the group of walkers that came in from their front. Back the way they'd come. She got Rick and Daryl's attention, waving them to follow her as she ran for the opening they'd come through. She ran faster when she heard the man bellow in pain.

She rounded the corner, seeing Big Tiny flanked front and back by two walkers. She hurried forward, Rick and Daryl on her heels, as she stabbed the one in front of him.

Shots rang out as the walker at the big man's back dropped. Adair whirled around, seeing the Latino lowering his gun.

Big Tiny leaned against the wall, reaching back to touch his shoulder. Adair watched as he looked at his hand, then wiped it on his uniform. She gasped, seeing a red smear when he dropped his hand. She walked around behind him, lightly touching his arm. He looked down at her, sweat beading his forehead.

"Let me see," she said gently. He turned slightly. She gulped and winced at the sight of the large man's back – it was a shredded, bloody mess. She looked up at him in alarm. She met Rick's eyes and nodded slightly, affirming that the poor prisoner had been bitten.

"I'm telling you," Big Tiny said, breathing hard. "I don't feel anything. It's just a scratch."

"I'm sorry, man," Rick said softly.

"I can keep fightin'!" Big Tiny insisted, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"You cut that old guy's leg off to save his life," the small man pointed out.

"Look at where his bite is," Rick pointed out.

"Guys, I'm fine!" Big Tiny shouted. "Just – I'm fine," he said, lowering his voice, imploring Rick with his eyes. Adair's heart twisted. She felt terrible for the man. "Look – look at me," he continued. "I'm _not_ changin' into one of those things."

"Look, man, there has to be something we can do," the other tall prisoner said. "Maybe we can just lock him up –"

"Quarantine him," the blonde man chimed in, nodding vigorously.

"We gotta do _something_," the small man said. He watched as Rick met Daryl's eyes. "Why you just standin' there? We gotta save him!"

"There's nothin' we can do," Rick told him quietly.

"You son of a bitch," the smaller man said angrily.

"I'm f—" Big Tiny started to say again, then grunted in pain when the Latino, quick as lightning, slipped to his side and punched the large man in his stomach. He crumpled to the floor in pain.

"Hey!" Adair shouted. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

He ignored her, staring at Rick. Then, he hefted the crowbar in his hand, and commenced to beating Big Tiny's head in. Rick looked on, a look of faint disgust on his face. Adair pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to believe what she was seeing as Big Tiny's head cracked open like a water melon. Blood and brain matter flew as the Latino hit him, over and over and over. Blood spattered back on his face and a crazy, focused light came into his eyes as he pummeled the man's head.

"Stop," she cried, feeling like her throat was closing in. "Stop it! He's dead already, you bastard!"

Although she understood that Big Tiny would have had to have been put down sooner or later, she hated seeing brutality of any sort against anyone she felt was a decent human being. And the violence that the prisoner was inflicting was borne out of an inherent bloodlust, not a true desire to put the poor man out of his misery.

The Latino slowly straightened up, panting, blood dripping from his face. He looked around steadily at everyone before stepping over what remained of Big Tiny and heading down the hall. After a moment, his fellow prisoners and the group moved to follow suit. Adair stood rooted to the ground, looking down at the remains of the man. Daryl reached out briefly squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him, and he gave her a curt nod before gently pushing her to go in front of him. She sighed and resumed her place next to the tall man. This time, the blonde man flanked her right side.

"Did you see the look on his face?" she heard Daryl ask Rick in a low voice.

"He makes one move," Rick replied, the rest of his sentence hanging in the air, unspoken.

"Just gimme a signal," Daryl said.

T-Dog pushed open a door and everyone slowly piled in, scanning the room for any threats. It dawned on Adair as she looked around that this had to be the laundry room. Tall front-loader machines stood in a row, with metal shelves and even some cots scattered around.

The Latino stopped in front of a set of double doors. There was a faint scrabbling sound coming from behind them, accompanied by groaning. Daryl threw a set of keys at his feet.

He looked at Rick. "I ain't openin' that," he said.

"Yes, you are," Rick replied. "If you want this cellblock. You're gonna open that door. Just the one. Not both of them. 'Cause we need to control this."

The Latino leaned down and snatched up the keys. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he would be covered, then stepped up to the door. He fumbled with the keys, before finally finding the match and shoving it into the lock.

"You bitches ready?" he threw over his shoulder, then yanked on the door. It didn't budge. He yanked again, and the door still held firm. "I got this," he said to no one in particular, then yanked both the doors open.

"I said one door!" Rick bellowed as the walkers poured in.

"Shit happens!" the prisoner snapped.

Everyone scrambled backwards as the creatures poured in. For the next several moments, the sound of the walkers mixed with the grunts of the humans and the _thwacks _of the blunt objects and the metallic _twangs_ of knives finding their marks.

Adair stabbed a walker through its head, then turned using the momentum to swing it down to the ground. As she placed her boot on its face to yank her knife back, she glanced up, and saw the Latino suddenly turn and take a hard swing with his weapon at Rick, who deftly ducked and moved backward at the same time. He stared angrily at the prisoner.

Adair gasped when she saw him then turn and grab a walker, and shove it toward Rick who had only just started to straighten up. The creature knocked Rick to the ground.

She saw Daryl watching, too, and saw him start to shoulder through the crowd toward him. _He's not gonna make it in time,_ she realized, then darted forward and grabbed the walker by the back of its uniform. With a deep, guttural grunt, she hauled the creature off Rick. The momentum sent her toppling backward, sprawling on her ass, as the creature started to squirm against her to turn around and bite her.

She heard Daryl shouting something a second before his hand came down from over her head. He stabbed the walker through the top of its head, then grabbed it and hauled it off her. He extended his hand and Adair grabbed it as he easily pulled her to her feet. He let her go and turned to train his crossbow on the Latino.

The taller man took a final swing at the last walker standing. As it went down, silence settled over the group as the Latino turned around to face the man he'd just tried to kill.

"It was comin' at me bro," he said casually.

"Yeah," Rick said, nodding. "Yeah, I get it. I get it. Shit happens." Adair held her breath as the two men locked gazes, standing motionless for what seemed an eternity. She recalled the hushed conversation she'd overheard between him and Daryl; her eyes shifted toward the hunter, his crossbow leveled at the Latino but his eyes on Rick. _Just gimme a signal._

Suddenly, Rick drew a breath and in an instant, brought his gigantic knife down into the prisoner's skull, as the small shouted, "No!"

Rick used his foot to push his body backward as he yanked the knife out, and turned just in time as the smaller man rushed him, swinging his bat violently. Rick easily sidestepped the swing and kicked the man in his chest.

Daryl shifted his bow to the taller man as he whipped around. "Easy, now," he said quietly. The small man had struggled to his feet and dashed between the set of double doors.

"I got 'im," Rick said, taking off after him.

Adair turned to the two remaining prisoners. T-Dog had his gun trained on the blonde man. Daryl leveled his bow at the tall man. "Get down on your knees," he instructed him roughly, and the man slowly complied.

"We don't have no affiliation with what just happened!" the blonde man insisted, looking from Daryl to Adair. "Tell 'em, Oscar!"

The man now known as Oscar remained stoicly on his knees, his hands raised in the air. "Stop talkin', man," he told the other man quietly.

Rick suddenly stormed back into the room, without the small man, looking furious. He pointed his gun in Oscar's face.

"We ain't had nothin' to do with that," he said in a low, calm voice. Rick pressed the barrel of the gun to his head.

"Oh, you didn't know?" he hissed. "You knew! Daryl!" He motioned for Daryl, who stepped over and grabbed Oscar's head, holding a knife to it.

Adair met Oscar's eyes. She instinctively believed the man. She looked at Daryl, clutching the knife, waiting for a sign from Rick. _Wrong,_ she thought, _this is wrong! _

Rick whipped around to face the blonde man, now also on his knees and lifted his gun. "Listen to us now –"

"No, sir!" the man exclaimed. "Please listen to me! It was them that was bad, it wasn't us!"

"Aw, that's convenient!" Rick said angrily.

"You saw what he did to Tiny!" the blonde man sobbed. "He was my friend! Please! We ain't like that. I like my pharmaceuticals, but I'm no killer. Oscar here, he's a B&E and he ain't very good at it, neither. We ain't the violent kind, they were! Please, I swear to God! I want to live!"

Rick swung back to Oscar, jamming the barrel of the gun to his forehead. T-Dog held his gun on the blonde man. Adair still stood motionless.

"What about you?" Rick asked Oscar, his voice deadly quiet.

"I ain't never pleaded for my life," the man replied. "And I ain't 'bout to start now. So you do what you gotta do."

Adair held her breath, looking at Rick's face. It felt like forever passed until he finally dropped his arm.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note - Hope you guys are liking so far! This chapter I gave Adair and Daryl a little bit of one on one time - we're takin' it slow and steady! I feel like I'm cheating on Grace with Adair...but I just LOVE Adair! Hope you guys do too :-) Also glad you guys enjoyed her smart ass mouth in the last couple chapters. She ain't a killa but don't push her! (lol)**

**Shout out to my reviewin' homies! To NoirChick - you are not a dumbass :-) In the words of Tomas/Rick..."shit happens"! I THOUGHT that was you but I wasn't totally sure - either way, I love ya and your reviews! Oh and I am not on crack, but I WAS overly caffeinated yesterday! Ha!**

**Fallon-Idalia - yay! I'm glad I could make you warm and fuzzy :-) Yes I hope I'm making this Daryl true to the character on the show - he's protective over EVERYONE and well, he doesn't know it yet but he kinda likes her and he did not appreciate Tomas' comments to her! And yes - I love that - showing her teeth! She's a fiesty Georgia peach - sweet on the outside and mostly on the inside, but with a rock-hard core!**

**FanFicGirl10 - glad you are enjoying! WOOP WOOP! And Adair and Daryl interaction coming up in 5, 4, 3, 2... (though its only convo for now teehee)**

**Leyshal Gisel - I knowwww :-( He was such a cute big oversized fluffy teddy bear. I'm so sad they had him get bitten right away.**

**MadeInIreland(guest) - I love your reviews! Please make an account so I can reply to them directly :-) I love that you called my chapter "brilliant" and yes - Tomas, though hot (come on, he is - Leyshla Gisel, where you at homie? Get my back!) was so evil! So, in staying true to the show, he had to go, and definitely by Rick's hand!**

**Hey I read on another author's note on a different story where the author was like, What if the stars of the show read some fanfiction? And that got me to thinking - how weird and cool would that be! If I knew any of them read my fics, oh man, I would just shit. Everywhere.**

**Recommended soundtrack: In The End by Linkin Park**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 8**

They led Oscar and the other man to the cellblock just beyond the laundry room. Daryl kicked the door open and Rick unceremoniously shoved the blonde man through the door hard enough to make him trip.

He gulped as he took in the bodies scattered down the cellblock. Every cell on the ground floor was opened, and a body lay half-in and half-out of each one, almost as though they'd been systematically executed.

"Oh, man," he said shakily. "I knew these guys, they were good men."

Adair felt a pang of sympathy as she glanced at him.

"Let's go," Rick said quietly to her, Daryl and T-Dog.

"Whoa, you just gon' leave us in here?" Oscar asked incredulously. "This is sick!"

"We're lockin' down this cellblock," Rick replied tiredly. "From now on, this part of the prison is yours. Take it or leave it. That was the deal." He turned on his heel and walked through the cellblock door.

Daryl glanced at the two prisoners. "You think this is sick?" he asked them in his quiet voice. "You don't wanna know what's outside."

"Consider yourselves the lucky ones," Rick added, then took off down the hall.

Daryl glanced at T-Dog and Adair, then jerked his head in a "follow-me" motion. He paused. "Sorry about your friends, man," he offered the prisoners softly.

Adair glanced at them. "I'm…me, too," she offered weakly, wishing she had something better to say. They glanced at her, the blonde man outright ogling her. Oscar nodded solemnly.

"Thanks."

T-Dog followed behind her, telling the prisoners, "Take those bodies outside and burn 'em." They walked off, leaving the two prisoners alone.

:O:O:O:

Adair sat down shakily on her cot forty-five minutes later. The events of the day coupled with the nonstop adrenaline pulse since the day she'd met the group was catching up with her.

On the way back from the prisoners' new cellblock, they had found the shower rooms. It was a further jaunt than was desirable, but the idea of a shower, even a lukewarm one, was welcoming.

When they'd reached cellblock C, they'd come upon a tense sight – Hershel was stirring. The group crowded in his cell, Maggie and Beth clutching each other. Adair stood outside the cell, several feet back from the doorframe. Though she'd shared more with these folks than she had with any other humans in the course of a year, she still felt it wasn't her place to be privy to such a private, emotional scene. But she was genuinely fond of the elderly gentleman and felt terrible for his daughters and comrades who loved him dearly, and she waited with bated breath as he stirred. If worse came to worst, she wondered who would be the one to put him down. She figured Rick, since she didn't think Maggie or Beth would personally be able to withstand the horror of shooting their walker-turned father. She knew she certainly wouldn't be able to, if it was her situation.

The man moved on the bed, his eyes still closed. Rick had knelt down beside him, and Adair's heart leapt when she saw the elderly gentleman lift his hand for Rick to clasp. Adair was vaguely surprised when she felt her own eyes sting with tears at the touching scene. She didn't know them, but the happiness that Maggie and Beth, and everyone else, were exuding was intoxicating and infectious.

After the excitement of Hershel's awakening had calmed slightly, they offered the good news of the shower room. That was one thing they did all have in common, Adair reflected, none of them had had a real shower in so very long. They were all used to wading into a creek or river, or using precious bottled water. But now, everyone could have a shower. It would probably be cool but it was a shower nonetheless.

Adair had snuck up to her cell, wanting to stay out of sight until everyone had had a turn in the shower. Meanwhile, she dug through her rucksack, coming up with the plastic bag she kept stuffed full with various toiletries she'd collected over the past year. She'd raided pharmacies and other shops for travel size bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash, as well as razors and razor cartridges.

Now, she stuck her head out of the door of her cell, seeing Carol coming up the stairs, her hair and skin still wet from her shower.

"Adair, go have a shower, silly," the older woman called, smiling. "Everyone else has gone."

Adair nodded and smiled, grabbing a change of clean clothes and a few toiletries plus one of the two towels she owned. She ran as fast as she could toward the shower area and, making sure it was really clear, stripped quickly and ducked under the water. The temperature made her gasp, but soon it felt like heaven, and she stood still for a moment, loving the pressure of the water on her bare skin. _Never again will I take you for granted_, she thought dreamily, zoning out for a moment as she enjoyed the water. Eventually, she lathered up her hair and body, rinsing quickly when goosebumps raised on her wrinkled skin. She toweled off and changed, then towel-dried her long hair. Between the heat and humidity, she knew it wouldn't take long for it to dry.

She hurried back to the cellblock and up to her cell. She'd heard T-Dog announce earlier that he was going to use some of their new rations and prepare a feast, the first proper meal any of them had had in quite a while, to celebrate the success of both finding a new home and Hershel's awakening. Since he was going to be the cook, the others had insisted he take his shower first. Adair smiled at the memory, knowing that was mostly because the sooner he was done showering the sooner he could get to cooking; everyone else had presented it more as something he "deserved".

_Totally transparent, _she thought to herself, settling back on her cot. Everyone else was gathered in the commons area or on the lower level of the cellblock. Glenn and Rick had accompanied T-Dog to the cafeteria to keep watch as he prepared the meal and to help bring it in when it was ready.

She had no idea when she dozed off or how long she was out, when she heard a familiar noise of knuckles on metal. Her eyes cracked open, seeing the hunter leaning against the doorframe.

"Y'know," he drawled. "Every time I see you, you're either killin' walkers, smartin' off to convicts or sleepin'. You need to get a hobby, woman."

Adair smiled vaguely and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. Her brain was foggy with sleep and her chest felt tight for some reason. She tried to draw a deep breath, hoping the deep intake of oxygen would help clear her brain. She wished she could have one full day to sleep and do nothing else.

"What I need is more sleep," she mumbled, yawning so deeply her jaw almost came off its hinges. She squinted past him. The sun was almost completely set in the dusky sky, and it had been relatively high when she'd come back from her shower. She swept her still slightly damp hair off her neck and twisted the long strands into a messy knot on top of her head as she looked at him. "You _can _set foot in my cell, you know," she chided. "_Mi _prison _es su _prison, and all that. I don't have cooties."

He chuckled and took one step into her cell, and leaned an elbow on the frame of her bunk bed. "How kind of you," he replied. "I wasn't sure about the cootie thing at first but now that you've showered, I guess you're all right."

She could tell he'd had a shower too, his normal coat of grime and dirt gone, his tanned skin clean and hair sleek. He'd changed into a faded but clean plaid shirt, the sleeves ripped off, and a pair of clean jeans. As she studied him, she suddenly noticed he was actually quite handsome. She hadn't been able to tell before when they were all filthy. _Not to mention, running and fighting for our lives. _She watched as he folded his arms, mesmerized by his biceps flexing and bulging.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, and Adair started, realizing she'd been staring at his biceps like a drooling idiot. She flushed and averted her eyes as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Just came up here to tell you that supper's about ready," he said in his low, gruff voice.

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Yeah. Thank you. I should go see if they need any help or anything settin' those tables. Then I'll probably just grab a plate and pop back up here."

He looked at her suddenly. "Why?" he asked abruptly, with an almost imperceptible edge to his voice.

Adair's head snapped up. "Why?" she repeated. "Well, I thought I'd leave y'all to your dinner. You have so much to celebrate, your new home and Hershel survivin'. You're so much like a family, and I'm like the little poor vagabond that showed up on your doorstep beggin' for scraps."

He snorted. "Hardly. You saved our asses at that house and helped us take _and clear _this 'new home'."

She shook her head, lowering her eyes. "You give me far too much credit, though you're very kind to say so. You would have fared just fine in both cases had I not come traipsin' along. By the way," she lifted her head and met his eyes again. "I never thanked you. You've saved my life like, at least three times by now." She smiled.

Daryl shrugged a shoulder, not meeting her eyes. "No problem. Just in the right place at the right time, is all."

"And also, thank you for havin' my back with that prisoner," she continued. "He gave me the creeps. He…reminded me a lot of one of the guys in that old group I told you about. I ain't sorry he's gone."

Her words hung in the air, echoing in her mind. Daryl didn't seem fazed at all by them, nodding his head, but hearing the words come from her own mouth bothered her slightly

"What?" he said quietly, noting the change in her face.

"Isn't it funny," she mused. "Before the ZA, I was…tried…to be a good person."

"You think you're not?" he asked roughly.

"No, it's not that. It's just…" She paused, struggling for the right words. "It's like, before this, I never would have thought I'd want a man dead. Or not be sorry he was gone. I was always against the death penalty, and for all I was a hunter, I have a thing about blood and gore – I could never even watch movies like that. But now…I felt nothing when Rick cut that guy's head in half. Actually, I did feel something. I felt…_relieved_. I felt like, 'threat extinguished'. You know?"

"He was a threat," Daryl replied. "There was nothin' left to do. I told you before, this is a kill or be killed, dog-eat-dog world now. And I saw on your face that you was bothered by what he did to Big Tiny."

"I was," Adair agreed softly. "I really was. I hate seeing bad things happen to what I believe to be inherently good people. Tiny, Oscar…even that ol' blonde hillbilly in that cellblock, they ain't bad men. I was never a criminal lawyer or nothin' so I never had any exposure to them, but I've always had a set of good instincts. And those men…they were good in their core. Just made some mistakes. Tiny didn't deserve that."

"He would have met the same fate, no matter whose hand it was dealt the blow," Daryl told her.

"I know that. I do. I just…wish it would have been dealt by a better man, is all," Adair said. After a moment, she snorted. "We're like the children in Lord of the Flies. We're all on this desert island, we're brutal and killin' each other, intimidatin' each other…Just wait when the top eschelon of the government comes swoopin' in to save our asses. We're gonna have egg on our faces, that's for sure."

Daryl had no idea what she was talking about, but something in her slightly self-mocking, bemused grin made him half-smile too.

"_Chow!"_ T-Dog's deep, rich bellow filled the cellblock. Adair instantly heard scuffling of feet, chattering voices, gigglesfrom below. Daryl glanced over his shoulder to the lower level, then turned back to her.

"You comin'?" he asked.

"Probably just to grab a plate," she hedged. "I just…I really don't want to intrude."

"You know you're stubborn for no reason at all?" he said. "You ain't intrudin'." He paused, studying the uncomfortable look on her face. "Look," he started, and her wide, gray eyes met his, eyebrows lifting curiously. "I know what it's like to be the outsider, not to trust folks, to want to be alone. I do. That's, like…the story of Daryl Dixon." It was his turn to offer a self-mocking smirk. "But take it from me," he continued. "It's lonely on this here side of the fence." He gestured inside her cell. "You think you're doin' what you should be to watch out for yourself, settin' yourself apart from other people, only watchin' your own ass, waitin' for the chance to do yourself one better and leave 'em. Because you expect, sooner or later, they gonna hurt you somehow, betray you, whatever. But you come to realize, sooner or later, it ain't all bad. Folks ain't all bad. Not everyone is out to get you. And…" He glanced over his shoulder when a sudden uproar of laughter came from the commons area. He looked back at Adair. "…it's nice on the other side," he finished softly.

He watched her face as she considered her words, looking at the ground, stubbing the toe of her boot against the floor.

"Maybe you're right," she said finally. "It's just a little personal struggle of mine. I've spent almost the whole last year totally on my own…I guess it's a bit of a process to get re-acclimated to folks again…realize they ain't gonna try to hurt me." Her dimple dug into her cheek as she grinned up at him. "What's the pre-ZA term? Oh yes, I've got 'trust issues'."

He let out a bark of laughter. "I'm the king of trust issues. And, I trust all those people down there with my life." He smirked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Trust me."

Her stomach suddenly rumbled loudly, and Adair blushed and clapped a hand to her belly as Daryl laughed again.

"Oh, my," she said, offering an embarrassed chuckle. "Please forgive me. I – I guess that was my body's way of tellin' me I need to shut up."

"Well, you should listen to it," Daryl said, backing out of her cell. "Come on, now. I can't promise there's gonna be any left if you don't come right now, and I ain't gonna tell ya again." His bootsteps thumped down the metal stairs.

Adair paused, smiling to herself after the hunter. Finally, she hoisted herself up and headed down the stairs to break bread with them for the first time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Please read, review and enjoy :-)**

**Recommended soundtrack: Bullet With Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 9**

A couple mornings later, dawn broke into C-block, the warm rays of the sun beginning to gently warm the concrete walls and floors.

As the newly risen sun crept into the edges of Adair's cell, she stirred from her deep sleep, burrowing further into her sleeping bag, trying to escape the gentle wake-up call. Finally, she yawned deeply and stretched like a newborn kitten, feeling actually well-rested and refreshed as she cracked her eyes open. Rick had let them have a couple days to rest and recuperate, and in that time, Adair had gotten more sleep and more food than she could recall having. It was an amazing feeling to be able to sleep securely, knowing that nothing was going to pounce on her in the night. It was an amazing feeling to go to bed with a full belly, not with hunger pangs and an empty, hollow feeling, daydreaming about favorite meals in the past so strongly she could taste them.

Today would be a busy day, making up for the much needed rest and relaxation over the past two days, for but hopefully it would be one that would be somewhat more pleasant. Rick had told them last night he wanted to get the cars moved up from beyond the fences, get the bodies cleared out and burned, and the cellblock cleaned up and made to look a bit more like home. She got up from her cot and dressed quickly in shorts, a long-length khaki colored tank, and her boots, peeking through the iron bars toward the perch, as had become her habit lately.

She and Daryl had chatted quite a bit over the past few days when they weren't sleeping or on guard duty. She discovered that he opened up to her more than quite a few members in the group. He seemed to have gotten in the habit of coming over to her cell when she was nowhere else to be found, rapping on the iron bars and standing in the doorway, finding some playful way to insult her until she invited him to come in. Even then, he never took more than one step into her cell and either leaned against the frame of the foot of her bed or against the wall. He'd told her about the group's journey up until she'd encountered them, about being run off Hershel's farm, about fleeing Atlanta and the night they'd stayed at the CDC. About the people they'd lost along the way, about his older brother Merle and what they'd done before the ZA, their life growing up in North Georgia. In turn, she'd filled him in on her past life as an attorney, what her parents were like. They swapped hunting stories of bringing down bucks of various sizes, arguing the merits of compound bow hunting (her preferred method) versus crossbow hunting and the skill it took to handle both. They talked of rifles and target shooting. And last night, they talked of the disease that was inside each of them, Adair finally sharing her fright at the concept.

"You promise me," she'd said, "if I _ever _get bit…you – you shoot me quick, clean. Don't beat me over the head like a caveman. Shoot me, back of the head, when I ain't lookin'. Do it fast, don't drag it out. Don't…let me suffer. And – and talk to me about somethin' pleasant from my childhood, right before you do it."

He wasn't on his perch, his sleeping bag and belongings stacked neatly.

She went to the shower room to freshen up, splashing cold water on her face and tying her hair up in a ponytail before brushing her teeth. When she returned the commons area, she saw T-Dog serving up bowls of oatmeal and water along with packets of flavored drink powder. Most of the group was already assembled, save for Glenn and Maggie, and Hershel of course was in his cell. Daryl flicked his head at her, taking a long drink from a bottle of water. She gave him a quick salute back and sat down at one of the tables, accepting a bowl, spoon, and bottle of water.

Adair had never been a huge fan of plain oatmeal, having always preferred to add copious amounts of brown sugar and milk. But this morning, the sight of the brown mush made her mouth water and she wolfed hers down in no time.

Daryl was perched on the stairs across from the table, watching her. She caught him staring and blushed when he smirked at her, setting her bowl and plastic spoon down.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Just so you know, my mama _did _teach me table manners when I was a child. My current habit of snarfin' food like a pig at a trough I developed as of late."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I've seen worse. It's just good to see you gettin' some food in you."

She shrugged. "Likewise."

"I'm not quite sure we were ever quite so bad off," he said. "Maybe real recently but from what I gather from what you told me, sounds like you averaged three meals a week for the better part of the year."

"Somethin' like that," Adair said lightly. She preferred not to dwell on her past misfortune; for the moment, she was safe, she had a bed to sleep in, and she had food to eat. _'Nough said,_ she thought.

Rick strode into the room, reaching down to clap Carl on the shoulder as he took up his own bowl. "Everyone feelin' rested?" he asked in his quiet voice. He nodded when he saw heads bob affirmatively. "Good. Well, eat up, then let's get to it."

When everyone was done eating, they headed outside. Instantly, Adair felt warm and sticky, sighing inwardly. Daryl took a set of keys from Rick and jogged down toward the truck, hopping inside.

"Georgia sure has a way of makin' you hate your life in the summertime," she murmured, wiping a hand across her already sweating forehead and twisting her ponytail into a knot so she could get her hair off her neck.

Rick smiled. "It does," he agreed. Adair held out her hand for a set of keys. He gave her the keys for the small green SUV as it was a bit closer than the red and white SUV. She slid in behind the wheel, almost choking from the heat.

"Whoo!" he heard her exclaim from the car as she cranked the engine. "It's hotter'n a billygoat with a blowtorch in here!"

Rick snorted with laughter, shaking his head. He watched as Daryl pulled the truck in beyond the fence and Adair moved in behind him.

"OK, let's get the other car in," he said. "Park 'em in the west entry of the yard."

"Good," Daryl grunted, hopping out of the car. "Our vehicles camped out there look like a giant vacancy sign." He handed Rick the keys back as Adair hopped out of her car.

"After that, we need to load up these corpses, so we can burn 'em," Rick added.

"Gonna be a long day," T-Dog sighed, as he and Carol came out to join them.

"Where's Glenn and Maggie?" Carol asked. "We could use some help."

"In the guard tower," Daryl replied, pointing straight ahead to one of the towers.

"The guard tower?" Rick repeated. "They were just up there last night…"

Daryl cupped a hand around his mouth. "Glenn!" he bellowed. "Maggie!"

After a moment, the door to the guard tower opened, and a shirtless Glenn stepped out on the balcony. They could see Maggie still inside behind him, struggling into her shirt.

"H-hey!" he called back, fumbling with the waistband of his pants. "What's up, guys!"

The group on the ground burst out laughing. Adair shook her head, clapping a hand to her mouth as she giggled. Although it was awkward, she thought it was sort of cute that they were able to carve out some "personal" time.

"You coming?" Daryl called up, smirking. The rest of the group dissolved into laughs again at his double entendre.

"What?" Glenn called back.

"Oh, Lord," Adair laughed.

"You comin'?" Daryl repeated. "Come on, we could use a hand."

"Yeah, we'll be right down!" Glenn said. He and Maggie disappeared into the guard tower, and the group turned back toward the vehicles.

"What are you smilin' at?" Daryl asked Adair, not unkindly. He'd turned around to sneak a peek at her, as he seemed to be prone to doing these days. The young woman had trailed behind them, and was looking at the ground with a smile on her face. A real one, too, where her dimple dug in deep into her cheek. He could tell when she was half-assing her smile and when she really meant it. He paused to let her catch up to him.

Her head snapped up, meeting his gaze. "Oh, nothin'. Just those two." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder.

"What, at them actin' like teenage bunnies?" he muttered, but couldn't suppress a half-smile. He started in surprised when Adair reached out and shoved his shoulder playfully.

"Oh, come on," she said. "Don't be such a prude. Or a hater. I think it's nice the way they…" She paused, pursing her lips and looking down demurely. "…find time to be together," she finished delicately.

"Yeah, well, not when it adds to our workload!" he shot back. He mulled over her "don't be such a prude" comment with sudden, inexplicable interest, sneaking another peek at her.

"Hey, Rick," T-Dog said suddenly. He pointed past the man's shoulder back toward the prison. Rick, Adair, Daryl and Carol turned at the sound of his voice. Over the grassy slope, from behind the fences, they saw the two prisoners walking toward them. Adair remembered Rick's warning to the prisoners and gulped as she watched him stride quickly over the limestone path up the hill toward them. Daryl was at his heels, and Adair jogged quickly behind.

"Adair!" she heard Carol hiss behind her. Adair ignored her and moved her legs faster to catch up with the men. She sincerely hoped that Rick wouldn't make good on his threat; these two prisoners didn't deserve that.

She heard Carol begin to run behind her, and soon, Maggie and Glenn joined them at the fence as they came up to the prisoners. The blonde had his arms folded over his chest. Oscar was still as stoic as yesterday. Both their hands were empty.

"That's close enough," Rick said as they neared. "We had an agreement."

"Please, mister," the blonde man said. "We know that. We made a deal. But you gotta understand, we can't live in that place another minute, you follow me? All the bodies…people we knew. Blood, brains everywhere. There's ghosts!"

"Why didn't you move the bodies out?" Daryl asked.

"Should be _burning_ them," T-Dog grumbled.

"We tried, we did!" he insisted.

"Fence is down on the far side of the prison," Oscar added quietly. That brought Adair up sharply. Was the man implying that their defenses had been breached? "Everytime we drag a body out, those things just line up! Droppin' the body and just runnin' back inside."

"Look, we had nothin' to do with Tomas and Andrew, nothin'!" the blonde man said, coming toward Rick. _Finally, names to go with assholes_, Adair thought. _Too little, too late. _"You tryin' to prove a point, you proved it, bro. We'll do whatever it takes to be part of your group. Just please, please – don't make us live in that place."

"Our deal is non-negotiable," Rick replied coolly. "You either live in your cellblock, or you leave."

"I told you this was a waste of time, Axel," Oscar told his comrade quietly, as the blonde's chin dropped to his chest in defeat. Adair's heart went out to them. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to find out the whole world was dead, including some of your closest friends, and have to live in a haunted cell.

"They ain't no different than the pricks who shot up our boys!" Oscar went on. He looked at Rick. "You know how many friends' corpses we had to drag out this week? Just threw 'em out like –" he paused, shaking his head. "These were good guys! Good guys who had our backs against the _really _bad dudes in the joint – like _Tomas _and Andrew. Now, we've all made mistakes to get in here, Chief, and I'm not gonna pretend to be a saint. But _believe me_, we've paid our due. Enough that we would rather hit that road than to go back into that shithole."

A heavy silence hung in the air, Rick studying both men as he weighed their words. He turned to look back at Daryl, who shook his head slightly.

"We need to talk amongst ourselves," Rick told them. "If you would please be so kind as to step over there." He gestured to a small holding area behind the fences that could be enclosed. Daryl ushered them over and locked them in.

"Come on, dude," Axel wheedled.

Daryl walked back over to Rick, where the group was engaged in a heated discussion of whether or not to allow Oscar and Axel to join up with them.

"I think we should let them stay," T-Dog said.

"I agree," Adair said immediately. If he hadn't beat her to it, she was certainly about to voice her opinion.

"Are you serious?" Rick asked them in a hushed tone. He looked back and forth between their faces. "You want them livin' in the cell next to you? They'll just be waitin' for a chance to grab our weapons. You wanna go back to sleepin' with one eye open?"

"I never stopped," T-Dog replied softly. "Bring them into the fold."

"We send them off packing, we might as well execute them ourselves," Adair added.

"I don't know," Glenn said. "Axel seems…a little unstable."

"After all we've been through?" Carol asked. "We fought so hard for all this, what if they decide to take it?"

"It's just been us for so long," Maggie added. "They're _strangers_. I don't – It feels weird all of sudden havin' other people around."

Adair shot the girl a look, feeling suddenly offended. She didn't like the way Maggie said that, at all. "_I'm _a stranger," she pointed out sharply. "What are you sayin'? Does it feel _weird _to have me around?"

"N-no, that's not what I meant!" Maggie said hastily.

Adair bristled. "Then what exactly _did_ you mean?" she said, biting off her words. "From where I stand, your meanin' was right clear enou –"

"Girls," Daryl interjected, holding up a hand.

"They can't even kill walkers," Glenn said, resuming the discussion.

"They're _convicts_," Carol added. "Bottom line."

"Those two might actually have less blood on their hands than _we _do," T-Dog argued back.

Daryl had been listening quietly to the conversation. Finally, he spoke. "I get guys like this," he said quietly. "Hell, I grew up with 'em. They're degenerates but they ain't psychos. I coulda been in there with them just as easy as I'm out here with you guys."

T-Dog glanced at him. "So are you with me and Adair?"

"_Hell _no," Daryl said emphatically. Adair frowned at him. "Let 'em take their chances out on the road, just like we did."

"What I'm sayin', Daryl –"

Rick interrupted T-Dog. "When I was a rookie, I arrested this kid. Nineteen years old, wanted for stabbin' his girlfriend. Kid blubbered like a baby during the interrogation, during the trial, suckered the jury. He was acquitted due to insufficient evidence. Then two weeks later, shot another girl." He looked around at the group. "We been through too much," he said passionately. He looked at T-Dog, then he looked at Adair, who turned her frown on him. "Our deal with them stands." He and Daryl turned to head back over to them. After a moment, Glenn followed suit, then Maggie, then Carol.

T-Dog stood defeated, looking out across the field. Adair knew how he felt. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "We tried."

"We did, didn't we?" he murmured back, not looking at her but reaching up to pat her hand. She squeezed his shoulder gently then followed the others, seeing Rick talking to Oscar and Axel. Daryl stood slightly back, his arms folded, watching.

"Daryl," she said quietly. He whipped his head around to her. "Can I talk to you?" She turned to walk away a few feet so they wouldn't be overheard.

"What's up?" he said gruffly.

"Why are you bein' so mean?" Adair asked him plaintively, keeping her voice low.

"Did you say _mean?_" he repeated, lifting an eyebrow, looking mystified.

"Yes. _Mean_. Don't your instincts tell you that those two men don't have an evil bone in their body? And you just said yourself, you coulda been in there with them with the way you were livin' before all of this. And look at you now; you're obviously respected within this group, valuable, responsible. Rick trusts you as his right-hand man. Why do you think you deserved a chance and these fellas don't?" She was practically panting from tirade.

"Hang on," he said, holding up a hand. "I never said that they don't deserve another chance. I said they need to _take _that chance out on the road like we've all done. You can't just go around trustin' people these days, and them two guys are convicts for _whatever _reason. They did somethin' they weren't supposed to and they're in here now. That says _somethin'_ about a person's character."

"No," Adair shot back. "What it says is that sometimes people in dire circumstances make mistakes and pay their dues as a result. You know as well as I do that there is _nothin' _out there for miles. This prison was a God-send to us. And you would send them out there? Knowing they can't really kill walkers that well, knowin' how hard it is to find food. You would be able to sleep at night knowin' that?" Her face was screwed up with disgust and disbelief.

"We don't know them," Daryl replied patiently, although his voice was growing slightly harsher. "You might think they're nice and good and decent and all, but the bottom line is we don't know 'em. We can't trust 'em. And what _would _keep me from sleepin' at night is knowin' that I put everyone at risk should they turn out to be somethin' other than what _you_ seem to want them to be, and they hurt someone. You, or the other girls. Carl. _That's_ what would keep me up at night. I ain't exposin' this group to harm just because some _strangers _seem like they're nice boys."

"_Stranger_," Adair said. "There y'all go with that word again. Does it not occur to you that _I _am a stranger? If that's how you really feel, then why'd y'all take me in? How do y'all know that I'm not gonna steal your shit durin' the night and haul ass? Or kill y'all so I can have this place all to myself? You don't know that. If you're gonna send them packin', you may as well send me too."

"You ain't goin' nowhere," Daryl frowned.

"Why not? What makes me a part of the group but them strangers? We didn't grow up together, you don't know my mama. You don't know my birthday or what my favorite color is. But because, what? I'm a woman? I helped y'all out? That makes me a non-stranger?"

"You're different," Daryl said quietly.

Adair threw her hands up. "How?" she exclaimed. She knew she was fighting a losing battle at this point and it was making her more and more frustrated as the conversation went on. She shook her head. "Come on. Right is right and wrong is wrong, Daryl."

Daryl sighed. "Listen, I know how you feel, and I think it's very…_nice_ of you to want to help them," he began. "But I also think it's very _naïve_ of you to want to expose the group to potential danger because you have a 'feelin'' that they're nice guys. I'm sorry, Adair, that's just a chance I ain't willin' to take, and I stand by the decision." He folded his arms and looked down at her steadily. She was frowning hard, and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Look, I think Maggie just rubbed you the wrong way with what she said. Just trust me on this, all right? Don't worry about it. I got you."

She snapped her head up at that, her gray eyes cold. "I don't _need_ you to 'get me'!" she said angrily. "_I _got me, ok? _I _got it!" She glared up into his confused blue eyes, suddenly partly angry at herself for getting so worked and taking it out on him, but feeling frustrated beyond belief. She'd translated his last words into "Don't worry your pretty lil' head about this." "I can take care of myself!" she continued heatedly. "I've done a bang-up job for almost a year now!"

He reached a hand out toward her, as though he wanted to grasp her shoulder to steady her. "Adair –"

"No." She stepped back away from him. "You know what, I'm not so sure this group thing is gonna work out for me after all."

He made a face of annoyance. "Oh, come on –"

"No. Let me make this real easy on y'all," she said, starting to turn away. "If you don't let them stay, I ain't stayin' either. Maybe I'll join up with those two, in fact. They made it pretty clear they weren't stayin' in that cellblock any longer. We should be outta your hair by the afternoon."

He frowned deeply at her. "You _ain't_ goin' off with a couple convicts!"

She whirled around, giving him a searching look. "Why?" she demanded. "What difference does it make to you? I'm a _stranger_, after all." She stalked off, leaving him standing there, annoyed. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"Women," he muttered to himself, unable to stop staring after her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note - I really want to take the time to thank all of you who read this story! The response has been overwhelming and I'm really, really happy you're enjoying it as much as I am. Onward with the homie shoutout!**

**Leyshla Gisel - Amazing? REALLY?! *Does the amazing story tapdance***

**FanFicGirl10 - I know they just both need to shut their mouths and get married already. Harrumph! *puts hands on hips***

** - hope three updates in a day is ok? :-D**

**MadeInIreland(guest) - Girlfrien'! I LIVE to make you happy. And giddy. Yes - please make a profile soon :-) And really, how do you exist in the Reedus' vicinity and NOT ogle them thangs? aaaaaaaaand...Yes! That is how I roll :-) Multiple updates - I do as my Muse commands! **

**piratejessieswaby - I know. Between Daryl and Rick, they are both just a bunch of stubborn fucks!**

**NoirChick - That DID escalate fast! But Adair is very much a right/wrong type of gal...and when she feels she's right, she's like a little pitbull with a bone - she won't let it go! Must be that attorney thing going on...And yes - she and Daryl are very much alike. In fact, your comment inspired a little portion of this chapter ;-) see if you can spot it!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Today by Smashing Pumpkins**

**Chapter 10**

Adair stalked past the rest of the group, still crowded around Rick as he spoke with the prisoners. Daryl followed slowly behind her, simultaneously watching her and listening to Rick.

"So, you've made your choice, then," Rick said evenly. Oscar nodded solemnly back. The rapid sound of Adair's bootsteps, kicking up gravel with each angry step, drew their attention, their heads whipping toward her quickly.

"Where is she goin'?" Daryl heard Maggie ask. "Hey! Where are you goin'?"

Adair glanced over her shoulder, but only at the prisoners. "Wait for me before you leave," she spat. "I'm goin' with y'all."

"What?" Rick demanded. He looked back at Daryl, who sighed and shook his head. Rick turned back toward her. "Adair, wait! Get back here!"

The woman ignored them, breaking into a jog toward the prison.

"Daryl, what the hell happened?" Rick asked when the hunter reached them. "Why is she leaving? Because we won't move them in with us?" He gestured to the prisoners.

"Somethin' like that," Daryl drawled, glaring after her in the general direction she'd gone.

"Are you just gonna let her leave?" T-Dog asked, throwing a hand in her direction.

"She's her own person," Daryl replied. "She wants to go, let her go." He didn't want to admit how angry and confused he felt just then. He didn't want her to go; he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe if she left. But dammit, if she would refuse food and shelter for the sake of making a point, he'd call her bluff.

"Come on," Rick said to the group. He looked at the prisoners. "Just wait here."

Oscar and Axel nodded, Oscar looking somewhat confused as he backed away from the fence. They turned to lean against the cement wall of the guard tower they stood next to.

As the rest of the group headed up the gravel walk, Rick tossed Glenn a set of car keys. "Move the cars to the upper yard," he instructed. "I want them facing out. They'll be out of the way but ready to go if we ever need to bail." Glenn nodded and jogged ahead.

Rick dropped back slightly to speak to Daryl. "I want you to talk to her," he said. "I don't want her leavin', especially not with a couple convicts."

"What I told her," Daryl replied.

"Look, I don't know what you all said, but if she leaves with them, she won't last much longer than they do," Rick said. "She saved our lives before and I told her I wouldn't have her blood on my hands."

"Girl said she wants to go, can't keep her hostage here," Daryl pointed out roughly, shifting his bow on his shoulder.

Rick stopped walking and looked at him pointedly. "You _really _want her to leave?" he asked rhetorically. He'd noted the way Daryl followed the woman with his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking, hadn't missed how the last couple nights he'd spent hours in her cell, talking with her in ways he never talked to anyone else.

Daryl sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. He glanced at Rick. "Whatever. I'll try again I guess." He fell in step beside Maggie, and Rick paused again to allow T-Dog to catch up to him.

"We'll get the prisoners a week's worth of supplies for the road," he told the burly African-American, hoping it would help him feel better.

"They might not last a week," T-Dog replied.

"Their choice," Rick said firmly.

"Did they really have one?" T-Dog said, frowning at the man.

"Hey," Rick said, stopping in his tracks and whirling to face him. "Whose blood would you rather have on your hands? Maggie's? Glenn's? Or theirs?"

"Neither," the man replied, climbing into his truck to move it up.

They moved the cars and Daryl's motorcycle up to the yard, and pointed them facing out as Rick had instructed. Daryl climbed off of his Triumph, looking toward the prison and sighing inwardly. She'd have to pass them in order to leave; if she happened to walk past he'd stop her. In the meantime, Rick and Glenn were going to the cafeteria to load up some food Axel and Oscar, and he accompanied them to provide extra cover. They loaded up a box of various food items and carried it back around to the other side of the prison to give to the two men, then slipped through the outer fence to go chop some wood for fire for the bodies.

Daryl trailed behind them, holding up his crossbow, scanning the fields. From years of hunting, he'd developed the ability to outwardly focus on something while allowing his mind to wander. His eyes took everything in as he wondered what he would say to her. Rick wanted him to ask her to stay, to make amends with her, but what Rick didn't understand was that Daryl had never done that with anyone in his whole entire life. He was used to people leaving him; it was something he'd never questioned before. His father, his mother, his brother. Even the few short-term girlfriends he'd had, when they'd decided they wanted to see if the grass was greener on the other side, he didn't try to stop them. And now he was supposed to _ask _the girl if she would stay? _Why the hell would she want to, now?_ Daryl thought. He'd gone off and made her mad, hadn't seen things her way, hadn't really _tried _to see things her way. And now she was leaving, with a pair of men that Daryl didn't trust as far as he could throw them, instincts be damned.

He hated to admit that over the past couple days, he'd started to feel closer to her than anyone in his whole life, his present group included. She knew more about him than anyone else. He and Rick were close, but in different ways. They didn't talk the way he had with Adair, they didn't share things or joke the way he and Adair did when they were together. Besides, Rick was carrying around a lot, dealing with his old lady carrying his dead best friend's child. He liked Glenn and T-Dog well enough, but it was sort of a guy thing that they didn't get super personal with each other. And who else was he going to talk to, Lori? Beth? Maggie? Adair had opened him up like a book; she knew things about him he'd never told anyone else. She didn't judge him, didn't act like she was better than him because she'd been a successful attorney and he'd worked in a garage. Moreover, he sensed a kindred spirit in her; she was a lone wolf at heart, too. But where Daryl was hard, unemotional, even cold sometimes, she was soft. Sweet. Warm. Her charming "Georgia peach" ways always made him smile; her silly stories and sayings. And, it didn't hurt that she had eyes like the clouds over the sea, or hair that always looked softer than silk, or a smile so sweet it could make a grown man cry. _And those lips and that damn dimple..._

He suddenly felt angry, angry that he felt things for her he'd never felt before for anyone. He didn't know what the feelings were, how to identify them, what they meant. All he knew was that he cared, a lot, and she was going to up and leave him.

:O:O:O:

Adair angrily shoved her clothes into her rucksack, followed by her toiletries and a few other random belongings. _If he thinks I'm kiddin' around about leaving, he's got another thing coming!_ she thought, jamming another shirt down into the sack with more force than necessary.

_Unfair, unjust, wrong, wrong, wrong_, her mind chanted in time as she stuffed items into her bag. There was a tiny part of her brain that understood the logic of what he said to her outside. A very tiny part. But another part of her was outraged that the two prisoners could just be cast out, as though they mattered not at all, and thrown to the wolves.

And she was mad that he was so stubborn. _So. Damned. Stubborn! _Was it guy thing? Was it a leadership thing? She didn't know, but it made her mad. And having the nerve to tell her not to worry, that he "had" her. What the hell did that even mean? _He doesn't know a thing about me. Not a thing! For all we talked about, he didn't learn a goddamn thing. Well, good riddance. _Unbidden, her eyes stung with angry tears, but she refused to let them fall. She was frustrated, she told herself. That always happened when she was frustrated. _Best you leave. The sooner the better._

She wasn't sure exactly what her plan would be. She would stick with them for a while, maybe try to find a safe place for them to hole up, before striking out on her own again. She sighed at the thought. The past week, she'd almost come close to feeling like she was with family. It was strange how a few nights with a group of people could make her forget the solitude and isolation of the past year. _I'll shake it off, soon enough_, she thought to herself. Her bag was packed, her sleeping bag rolled up and attached to the bottom of it. Her Glock was at the small of her back. Her hands shifted from side to side on her belt as she felt without looking. _Knife. Other knife. _As far as she was concerned, she was good to go. She'd stop off at the cafeteria to get some rations and some water, and then she'd be on her merry –

"Honey? What are you doing?"

Lori's voice startled and she whirled around to face the dark-haired woman. Lori slowly took in her empty cot, her stuffed rucksack, her rolled sleeping bag, nary a personal effect in sight. Her doe-like brown eyes met Adair's pale ones, the question in her eyes.

"Are you leavin'?" Lori asked her quietly, stepping inside. "Why?"

"I just -" Adair broke off and sighed, the energy for the explanation suddenly leaving her. "I'm not so sure the group thing is for me."

"But you helped us get this," Lori said, sweeping her arm out toward the prison. "This is as much your home as it is everyone else's."

"Not everyone," Adair corrected tersely.

Lori cocked her head. "Is this about the prisoners?" she asked. Adair pressed her lips together and looked away. "Please don't go," Lori continued. She reached for Adair's hand. "I feel like we've all sort of fallen in love with you this past week. I, for one, would really miss you." Adair glanced up at her, feeling touched. She opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say.

Lori sensed her speechlessness. "Tell you what. I came up here to ask if you would give me a hand with something. Afterward, we'll come back up here and talk, me and you. How does that sound?"

Adair, never one to refuse a request for her help, nodded. She set her rucksack back down on her cot. She followed Lori out of the cell, taking the woman's arm to help her down the steps.

Lori flashed her a grateful look. "Thank you," she said. "Goodness, but I'm pregnant. I cannot wait to have this baby and deflate a little!"

Adair snorted, carefully handing Lori down the steps. When they reached the bottom, Lori flashed her an excited smile.

"Come on," she said. "Wait until you see this."

Curiosity piqued, Adair followed Lori to Hershel's cell and stopped short. The man was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bright-eyed, awake and smiling.

"Hershel!" she exclaimed, returning his bright smile.

"Miss Adair," he replied gallantly. "How do you do on this fine day?"

She laughed, delighted. Then she noticed Beth standing behind him, holding two metal crutches in her hands. Adair pointed in surprise.

"Where did you get those?" she asked.

"The infirmary," she replied, grinning. "We adjusted them so they would fit Daddy."

"This is what I needed your help with," Lori said, turning smiling eyes on Adair. "Beth will need some help getting Hershel to his feet, and my back has been hurting so much I can hardly bend –"

"No, say no more, Mommy," Adair replied, holding up a hand. She moved to Hershel's side, taking a crutch from Beth, and leaning down to slip an arm around him. Beth copied her movements, and with a grunt, they got Hershel to his feet, slipping the crutches under his arms.

Carl stood next to his mother, carefully supervising with his hands out slightly, ready to catch the elderly gentleman should he fall.

"Just take your time," Adair said softly.

"Daddy, don't push yourself," Beth cautioned.

The old man laughed. "What else am I going to do?" he said, struggling for balance. "Can't stand looking up at the bottom of that bunk any longer!" He swayed slightly, and Adair and Beth both grabbed his arms to steady him. He tested his weight against the crutches, then took a tentative step forward, covered on his sides by the girls and his front by Carl. He took another hesitant step forward.

"You know," he said, "I think I'm pretty steady."

"It's a good start," Adair said encouragingly, smiling.

"Want to take a rest?" Lori asked.

"Rest?" he repeated with a mischievous grin. "Let's go for a little stroll!"

They slowly moved down the cellblock, through the commons area, and to the door leading outside. Adair found herself huffing and puffing along with Hershel, the slow movements coupled with her abrupt stops to make sure he wasn't falling wearing her out.

She moved around to his front, to brace against his chest. Lori led them down the steps, Carl bringing up the rear behind Beth.

"Easy, now," she murmured. She cast a glance backward to cover her footing.

"I gotcha," the pregnant woman said.

Hershel surveyed the now clean yard, free of the corpses. He smiled his approval. "You cleared out all the bodies," he observed. "It startin' to look like a place we could really live in." He hobbled over the pavement.

"Watch your step," Lori cautioned him, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. "Last thing we need is you fallin'." The old man smiled with glee, hobbling just slightly faster, testing out his new "legs".

Adair watched him, her heart swelling. _What courage_, she thought admiringly. If she'd just been bitten and had to have her leg hacked off in order to prevent the infection, she wasn't so sure she'd be smiling like that. But to see him do it showed her the power of human courage, and again she felt involuntary tears sting her eyes. _What a goober I am_, she thought, swiping a finger under her eye. _When did I turn into such a marshmallow?_

Carol, Maggie and T-Dog were moving the cars onto the yard, and had gotten out to get a better look, their mouths dropping open with delighted surprise at the sight of Hershel up and moving. Maggie pressed her hands to her mouth and chest, tears flowing freely as she took in the sight of her father.

In the not-too-far distance, Adair saw Rick, Glenn and Daryl pushing back through the hole in the fence, Rick and Glenn carrying armfuls of wood to use to burn the corpses. She could make out the grins on their faces. She locked eyes with Daryl. His bright blue eyes bored into hers, some unnamed, intense expression on his face. In spite of herself, she couldn't prevent a shy smile from spreading across her face as she gazed back at him. She got a half-smile back in return. _Maybe...maybe we can have a chat before I leave..._if _I leave..._

"All right, Hershel!" she heard Glenn shout. Daryl broke his gaze from Adair's to shush him, gesturing over his shoulder beyond the fence. Adair sighed as she saw a small group of walkers staggering in the field.

"You're doin' great, Daddy," Beth said encouragingly. They flanked Hershel on his sides and behind him. Adair clasped her hands behind her back, keeping her eyes on his footing, still smiling. She glanced over at Daryl again, catching him still looking at her.

"Ready to race, Hershel?" Carl asked teasingly, grinning.

"You give me another day," Hershel replied, "I'll take ya on." He winked at the boy.

For a long, happy moment, the group stood, eyes centered on the elderly gentleman who meant so much to them. Carol and T-Dog wrapped their arms around each other, grinning. Maggie laughed through her tears. Even Rick smiled, a full-mouthed, genuine smile that Adair wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. Glenn stood, grinning ear to ear, his arms folded across his chest. Daryl stood back slightly, a contented half-smile still on his face as he looked at Hershel. Unconsciously his eyes shifted back to Adair, meeting her gaze, and his breath caught in his throat, just a little, seeing a tiny shadow appear in her right cheek. _It'll be all right_, he thought. _Just gotta get up there, talk to her. It'll be all right_.

And then, in an instant, the moment shattered like glass.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note - Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing this story! I loves it!**

**Shout out to the homies!**

**piratejessieswaby - I know! He is a sweetie. Just don't tell him that. lol**

**Lorem tenebrae - woohoo! New reviewer! Thanks for reading this, and I'm glad that you enjoy the story and Adair. She is independent but she is learning its better to be with people that have your back. **

** - aww thank you girlfriend!**

**loveorpain - I know right! RUN FOREST, RUN!**

**Leyshal Gisel - the midget traitor! Ugh, little Andrew. *shakes head***

**electrogirl88 - thank you! Yes, I wanted them to develop somewhat "slowly" (for the fanfic world) to keep it true. But I thought that spending hours a night talking, and how she's able to get him to open up like no one else, would make him get attached to her pretty quick. **

**Blood Red Vamp - first off, how cool is YOUR name?! And - I type, I type! *moves fingers faster* yes! Slow and steady wins the race :-) It's gonna be a little bit sad here between them for a bit, on account of Daryl assuming she's dead, but I'll make it up to you soon - promise!**

**Fallon-Idalia - my heart! :-) She's kind of a mixed bag of nuts in that regard. She's suspicious of people in general, but she takes to the prisoners - its all about instinct with her. It's kept her alive so far! So yes, she just can't abide unfairness and injustice and won't be a part of it, even though she really does want to stay. And yes - she has a smart ass mouth and isn't afraid to use it! She's also got a little pride, and the way Daryl wants to call her on her bluff is the same way she wants to make good of her bluff! They're both stubborn little pookie heads, they are.**

**FanFicGirl10 - uh...bad news bears for you :-( she gets separated from the group...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek :-(**

**Hey, show of hands. Who thinks Daryl's theme song should be "Simple Man" by Skynyrd? Anyone else? Just me?**

**Recommended soundtrack: One Step Closer by Linkin Park; Wait and Bleed by Slipknot**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 11**

Carl saw them first, shouting the warning as the hissing and growling met Adair's ears.

"Walkers!" the boy cried just as Adair whirled around.

"Oh, God!" Beth screamed, reaching for Hershel's arm.

Adair yanked her gun from her waistband. "Go!" she told Hershel urgently, jerking her head back toward the stairs. Beth grabbed the elderly man's arm and led him off hurriedly.

She stepped forward, firing off a shot, before taking another couple of running steps and jumping onto an old picnic table, firing three more times, the bodies hitting the pavement.

She chanced a look down by the fences, seeing Rick, Daryl and Glenn at a dead run toward them. Maggie stepped up to her side, firing away. Even Lori took out her six-shooter, managing to hit a walker right between the eyes.

Carol and T-Dog had joined the firefight. "The gate is open!" she heard T-Dog shout.

_How! _Adair's mind screamed as she ran forward another few steps, firing left and right. _There are too many of them!_

"Lori!" she heard Maggie scream. "Here!" The girl stood next to the fence enclosure leading back into the prison.

Lori saw her and grabbed Carl's arm. She hesitated when she saw only Adair, Carol and T-Dog left on the yard.

"Go, dammit!" Adair screamed at her. "Get out of here! _Go!" _She ran forward another ten feet to provide cover.

The woman nodded, grasping Carl's arm and running in Maggie's direction. Adair turned back around, crying out when she saw a walker practically on top of her. She kicked out with her foot, her boot connecting with the thing's sternum and pushing it back several steps, then blew its head apart. She kept pushing forward, working her way around the side of the prison to draw the walkers off the pregnant woman and the lame elderly gentleman.

It worked, Adair noted, her heartbeat starting to go crazy when she saw she was all but surrounded by them. _Where the hell are the guys! _

She'd lost sight of Carol and T-Dog, although she could hear someone's gun firing intermittently. Adair fired three shots, to her left, her front and right. She swung the gun around and pointed it at the forehead of a walker closing in.

_Click._

"Shit!" she screamed aloud. She skipped backward, spotted an opening, and darted through it, just barely missing a pair of swinging arms. She saw a door in the side of the building. She didn't remember seeing it before, but she knew instinctively it was the same building where C-block was housed.

_Please be unlocked, _she prayed, her momentum causing her to slam up against the door when she reached it. She turned around and saw another creature practically on top of her. She back-kicked as hard as she could, connecting with the rotting body and then tried the door. _Thank you, Lord! _She could have wept gratefully. She wrenched the door open and then slammed it shut, her back sliding down the door as she found the release on her Glock with her thumb in the darkness. She hit the release, and the empty mag fell against her chest. She dug the full mag out of her bra and slammed it home, charging the gun. She took a deep, shuddery breath and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light.

She vaguely recognized the area she was in. It was a side door that opened into a hallway, but she spied a white arrow on the wall. _God bless you and keep you, Glenn_, she thought again. She followed the arrow down further, her head swiveling all around. Unless she was mistaken, the next arrow would be right around this corner –

She gasped and wheeled backward, seeing at least a dozen walkers shambling toward her. She turned around and took off running the way she came. Instead of ducking back into the short corridor where the door was, she kept going straight.

Suddenly a loud, awful sound met her ears. It was like the most annoying sound on an alarm clock at an ear shattering decibel.

_God, if that don't draw every walker in a five mile radius! s_he thought, kicking her legs up high for extra speed. She thought the cafeteria might be this way, things started to look a little more familiar –

"Shit!" she hissed, seeing another group of walkers ahead of her. The moans and hisses behind her were growing louder. She turned around, desperate for any mode of escape. She recalled passing an off-shoot on her way toward the cafeteria. She turned on her heel and ran back for it, turning into it, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the prison, the undead creatures closing in.

:O:O:O:

Gone. Everyone was goddamn gone.

Daryl followed Rick frantically through C-block, listening as the man screamed for his wife and son. Daryl gritted his teeth, shouting for T-Dog and Carol. And Adair. _Where the hell is she?_he thought frantically. The damned alarm was still blaring horribly too – they still hadn't found a way to turn it off.

"We took down five of 'em in there," he panted to Rick, gesturing over his shoulder to the commons area.

"There were four in here, but no sign of Lori or any of 'em," Rick responded, his voice frantic.

Glenn stepped in behind Daryl, Axel and Oscar following. They'd cut the locks on the gate the prisoners had been behind, and, weaponless, they tagged along.

Daryl leaned down to reload his bow, his muscles straining as he drew the string back.

"They musta been pushed back into the prison," Glenn said, breathing heavily.

"Somebody is playing games!" Rick bellowed, enraged. "We'll split up and look for the others. Whoever gets to the generators first, shut 'em down!" Together, they ran out of C-block and out of the commons, back into the halls of the prison.

:O:O:O:

He followed Rick and Oscar, covering the rear, as they barreled through the door to the generator room. There were two walkers they could see that were on their heels, and Daryl slammed the door shut as soon as he was through. Oscar leaned against it with him, holding it shut as the creatures pounded on the door.

_God, this is fucked up!_ his mind shouted. If things were this bad on this side of the prison, and he was _with_ people...he clenched his jaw as he thought of Adair. The last he'd seen of her, she was firing away on the yard by herself, moving away from the entrance to their cellblock in an effort to get the walkers to follow her to give Lori and Hershel a chance. Had her bravery gotten her killed? Was she dead, even now? Worse yet - would he encounter her in these halls, be forced to put her down? His mind flashed to their conversation last night and the impassioned request she'd made to him. _I couldn't even keep my promise_, he thought, _let alone keep you safe._

"How do you shut these down?" Ricks sudden shout broke through his thoughts. Oscar glanced at Daryl, silently asking him if he could hold the door alone. Daryl gave him a terse nod, throwing all of his weight against the door as Oscar ran off.

Suddenly he heard crazed shouting, and managed to glance over his shoulder. He did a double-take, seeing the man he'd come to find out was named Andrew, emerging from behind a generator, swinging an axe at Rick's head. He heard scuffling, heard a gunshot. That sent him into overdrive. _Fuck it!_he thought. He backed off the door, sweeping up his crossbow in one motion, drawing bead on the aggressive walker as it pushed through the door and shooting it through the head. He drew his knife quickly and took out the next walker, throwing its body backward and slamming the door shut again.

"Shoot him!" he heard Andrew exclaim, and he raced around the side of the generator, seeing Oscar holding the gun. "Shoot him!" Andrew shouted again. "We can take back this prison!"

After a long moment, Oscar swiveled the gun on Andrew and fired. Daryl sidled up alongside him, his knife raised, ready to pounce on the man if he so much as breathed wrong.

Oscar spun the gun on his finger and held it out to Rick, butt first. Rick stared at him for a moment, then took the gun. He stepped over to the machine and flicked two switches. Finally, blessedly, the prison fell silent.

They left the room and plunged back into the dark hallways, Rick scanning the ceilings, walls and floors with his torch. They suddenly saw another light, and Glenn and Axel met them in the hall. They each noticed that there was exactly the same number of people in each group as there was when they started their desperate search, their faces falling.

They rounded a corner, and saw two walkers leaning over a body, feasting. Rick ran up to them, firing two quick shots and looked down at the body, as the rest of the men crowded in around him. Daryl noticed and recognized the fingerless gloves on the hands of the mangled body, and his heart sank.

_Fuckin' T,_ he thought sadly, shaking his head. Rick's hand dropped to his side and he stared down at what had once been their friend, swallowing hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Glenn turn his back and take a few steps away, his head dropping. They needed to press on, but the loss of their comrade, with them since day one, was hard. Really hard.

Daryl spotted something on the ground, a bit of material. He leaned down and picked it up – it was Carol's scarf that she'd worn wrapped around her head earlier that day. He gripped it in his fist for a moment before throwing it angrily down.

"She probably went this way," he said gruffly, motioning to the door on his right. _But where are you, Adair?_There was no sign of her anywhere.

They poured out of the door, racing back around the side of the building. Rick spotted him first.

"Hershel!" he called. The elderly gentleman and Beth were standing at the top of a set of stairs. He was leaning on his crutches.

"You didn't find anyone?" Hershel asked.

"Thought maybe they came back out here," Glenn panted. Beth and Hershel sadly shook their heads.

"What about T? Carol?" Hershel said. "Adair?"

"T and carol didn't make it," Daryl rasped. "Don't know about...the others." He couldn't bring himself to say her name out loud.

"I'm here," a weak voice said. "I'm here."

They whirled around as a group, hope rising in Daryl's chest. It tightened when he saw that it wasn't Adair. _But it's _Carol, he thought. _She's alive_.

The woman ran to them, and Rick caught her by the arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears.

"T-"

"I know," Rick said, swallowing hard. "Did you see Lori? Any of the others?"

Carol shook her head.

"That doesn't mean they didn't make it!" Rick said desperately. "We're goin' back in. Daryl, you and-"

His words died in his throat when the sound of a baby's cries met his ears. A metal door opened and slammed and they all turned again, seeing Maggie and Carl merging from the door that led to their cell lock. Maggie was holding a bundle to her chest, shaking and crying. Carl followed behind her, his face immobile.

Maggie was trying to speak, but couldn't. She locked eyes with Rick. Daryl's heart went out to the man as Rick dropped his gun and knife to the ground.

"Wh-where is she?" he asked, his bewildered tone making him sound like a little boy. He moved to go past Maggie, who finally found her voice. She clutched his sleeve, grasping for his arm one-handed while she clutched his baby to her chest with the other.

"No, Rick, don't!" She pleaded. "Don't, please!"

He stumbled past her, the realization hitting him, and he began to sob, bringing his hands to his eyes. His body wracked with each sob, and he finally bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. He looked at Carl. Something in his son's immobile, tear-streaked face made him cry out in anguish.

"Ah, no," he sobbed. "No!"

Daryl watched as Glenn stepped forward to embrace Maggie. His eyes shifted to Rick, watching as his friend collapsed to the ground, experiencing a level of agony so overwhelming, it was palpable. He lowered his eyes to the ground, sighing deeply, his stomach clenching with grief. _Lori, T-Dog...Adair_, he thought.

Gone. They were all gone.

:O:O:O:

She'd run out of bullets a long time ago.

She ran through the dank hallways of the prison. She'd run deep into the prison, then back toward the way she'd come, hoping to run into one of the group. All she found were more walkers. She'd tried dodging around them at first but then quickly realized she was doing herself a disservice, as she kept encountering the same groups over and over. So she started firing until she went dry, then switched to her knives.

She was back in their wing of the prison, but she couldn't be sure exactly where. Glenn's arrows were nowhere to be seen, although she was pretty sure she was one or two hallways over.

"_Uuunnnnnnngh!"_

The morbid groan met her ears and she paused, panting, listening for the direction it came from. She clutched her right side, trying to draw deep breaths against the wicked cramp there.

_Goddamn these hard walls!_ she thought. Every single noise reverberated crazily, making it impossible to tell where it was coming from.

In front of her. She figured it out a second before she saw shadows fall over the wall. She spun on her heel and ran on. She was pretty sure if she hung a left at the corner coming up, she'd be back in arrow-land.

She took a left at the junction, seeing not the familiar wall with the white arrow but a long expanse of dark hallway.

_Fuck me! _She looked frantically over her shoulder, wondering how close they were. She prayed to see just one friendly face. _Am I going to die down here?_

It occurred to her that there could be a horrible reason why she hadn't seen anyone – maybe there was no one left to see.

She whirled when a cold hand grasped her shoulder, stabbing out with her knife and meeting and eye socket. She gasped – there was a crowd in front of her, a crowd almost around the corner. That left straight behind her, so she spun on her heel and took off.

Suddenly, her right ankle rolled and the ground rushed up to meet her face as she heard an audible _pop_ and an intense pain. She gasped, clawing the ground as she pulled herself along. She pushed to her knees, looking over her shoulder. They were too close for comfort. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she rose to her feet with a grunt, limping along as fast as she could. To her right along the wall, she spotted a door, slightly ajar. She limped faster, focused only on the door. When she reached it, she grasped the edge and pulled it open. The top part of the door bowed out under her insistent pulling, but looking down, she saw the bottom edge of the door connected to a locking mechanism in the door. She reached upward to feel for the latch that would release it, and it was broken.

Feeling breath on her neck, she turned, jabbing out with her smaller knife. It went into the forehead of a walker and it fell to the ground. Behind it, she saw a small herd staggering toward her, and she knew she couldn't risk the time it would take to retrieve the knife.

_Damn, I liked that one too,_ she thought mournfully before turning her attention back to the door. She pulled the door out as far as she could, the bottom part of it still immobile. She could have probably found a way to release it, but she simply didn't have time, nor did she have a flashlight to see what she was doing. She jumped through the small opening, landing on her bad ankle, screaming out in pain as she went tumbling to the ground. She paused on the floor for a moment, listening for movement or the telltale growly hiss of the walkers in the dark room. She heard nothing but silence. She figured she was in some sort of storage room or closet. She reached up toward the door, feeling for the handle, yanking it shut. She yanked harder, waiting for the clasping noise that would signal it was secure. It wouldn't close – the damn door was broken.

She froze for a moment on the ground, realizing that as the walkers pounded on the door, they were effectively pushing it closed, in her favor. Unless they figured out that they would need to actually pull it back and hold it there to squeeze through, she thought she might actually have a chance. She pressed herself backward, the pain in her ankle making her gasp, and she hoped, _prayed, _she hadn't broken it. She felt along the wall for something to grasp to help pull her up. Suddenly, she felt a tearing in her arm and she withdrew it with a hiss of pain. She'd accidently cut it on some sort of sharp edge. She felt warmth and wetness start to trickle down her forearm. She reached up with her other hand, carefully this time, and her fingers grasped a sharp corner of a metal shelf. The corner of it was warm and wet with her blood.

She couldn't see it in the dark, but she could feel it. She was bleeding, and bleeding bad. She took her shirt off and wrapped it as tightly as she could around her arm to try to staunch the bleeding. The walkers kept pounding on the door, the edge of the door hitting the frame repeatedly. They could probably smell her blood, she thought, and crawled on the floor, toward the back of the room, as far from the door as she could get.

_I wish I could see! s_he thought. With her luck, she would manage to hit something with her head and knock herself out.

As the top of her skull suddenly, jarringly, met another hard, sharp edge, she thought to herself, _I'm my own bad luck_. Her head grew fuzzy from the impact, new wet warmth seeping down her forehead, and she crumpled to the ground, the dark room grower darker and finally, there was nothing but black stillness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note - Thank you as always to you amazing readers and reviewers. My heart goes "bloopity bloop" every time I see a new review or PM. Keep 'em coming. They make me squeeeeeeeeeeeeeee with joy, and I love to squee.**

**Homie shoutout!**

**Fallon-Idalia - Thank you love! I try to visualize myself in those situations, and I get all panicky, so I hope it comes across in my writing :-) And I know! He needs to hurry hurry...**

**Regin - WOO HOO! NEW REVIEWER ALARM! :-) Love, like, and lust? Update's here, punkin!**

**loveorpain - Gah I know she needs to stay up...but she bonked her head really hard :-( Lights out for our girl!**

**Daeb - More's here! :-) **

**StupidStef666 - keep reading :-)**

**FanFicGirl10 - I know I LOVED T-Dog... I was SO SAD to see him go :-(**

**NoirChick - Ugh last chapter was hard to write. This one was good...next one I AM SO EXCITED FOR! :-D**

**Leyshla Gisel - I'm a dirty rotten tease, aren't I? XD**

**MadeInIreland - I KNOW that episode just tore my heart. I also cried when T and Lori died...I was never a huge Lori fan, but I didn't want her to die :-( And her speech to Carl was SO heartwrenching! Lovely jubbly job? That might be the greatest compliment EVER!**

**Lorem Tenebrae - yes! you are correct! And I had to really jack her up too, because I never got why Carol didn't just leave the freaking room and run back to the cellblock? Other than being dehydrated, she was fine! That's what Adair would have done!**

**piratejessieswaby - hmmm...WILL HE OR WON'T HE?!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 12**

After a long, tense, painful moment, Rick finally sat up.

He looked dazed, and the baby's crying just made him look even more confused. Maggie still clutched the baby, whose cries were growing more intense.

Daryl crossed the pavement, kneeling down in front of his friend. "Rick, you with me?" he asked gently. The man stared at him blankly, as though he were looking through Daryl. He waved a hand in front of his face. "Rick!" he said a little louder. The man didn't reply.

Carl held his hands out for the baby, and after a moment, Maggie carefully transferred the tiny infant into his arms. She was surprised at how carefully the boy cradled her, as though he'd been born to hold a baby.

"Let me see the baby," Hershel commanded. Carl moved to carry her over.

"What are we gonna feed it?" Daryl asked, striding over as well. "We got anything a baby can eat?"

Hershel pulled back the denim shirt, that had belonged to Carl, back slightly from the baby. He smiled down at her.

"The good news is, she looks healthy," he said. "But she needs formula, and soon, or she won't survive."

"Nope," Daryl said firmly. He lifted his crossbow to strap over his shoulders. "No way. Not her. We ain't losin' anybody else." His heart ached briefly as he thought of Adair. "I'm goin' for a run."

"I'll back you up," Maggie added.

"I'll go too," Glenn added.

Daryl nodded at them. "Ok. Think where we're goin'. Beth," he said, motioning to the girl. She stepped over to him, and he motioned at Carl. "Kid just lost his mom...his dad ain't doin' so hot." Rick still sat on the pavement a few yards away, staring off into space.

She nodded, getting his drift immediately. "I'll look out for him."

I_ ain't doin' so hot,_ he thought. He pushed the thought away. He needed to be alone to mourn properly. If he thought too hard about it now, he was liable to break down himself. He focused on the small infant in Carl's arms. Right now, she was what mattered.

"You two get the fence," he instructed Axel and Oscar. "Too many pile up, we got ourselves a problem. Maggie, _vamanos."_

At that moment, Rick suddenly lurched to his feet. He grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, an ax, and turned and stalked toward the prison.

"Rick!" Maggie cried, moving to stop him. He ignored her and ran up the stairs and into the prison. Daryl watched him and shook his head, sending up a quick prayer that the man wouldn't do anything stupid and get himself killed too, and make his kids orphans.

"Come on!" he shouted. "We're gonna lose the light!" He ran off toward the cars, Glenn and Maggie on his heels.

"There's a Piggly Wiggly on eighty-five," Glenn offered.

"No, baby section's been cleared," Maggie replied. "Lori asked me to keep an eye out. I haven't had much luck."

They reached the vehicles, and Daryl pulled off his crossbow to toss it in the backseat. "Is there any place that hasn't been completely looted?" he demanded. _This isn't looking good._

"We saw signs for a shopping center just north of here," Glenn said.

"Yeah, but there's too much debris on the road, the car will never get through there," Maggie argued.

Daryl glanced at his bike, removing his bow from the backseat. "I can take one o' ya," he said.

"I'll go," Maggie said. Daryl nodded and moved off toward his bike to load up his bow and slide on the poncho he'd made out of horse blanket. He heard the two lovers talking behind him, Glenn offering to go, but Maggie refusing.

"I have to do this for Lori," she said quietly.

"I love you," he heard Glenn reply softly. "Be safe."

The tender words made Daryl's stomach clench suddenly, and his mind flew back to Adair. Angrily, he swung a leg over his bike, revving it, feeling Maggie jump on behind him and wrap her arms around his stomach.

Without a backward glance, they hit the road.

:O:O:O:

They pulled up into a wooded, grassy area, stopping outside a short chain-link fence that enclosed a small playground.

Daryl turned off the bike as Maggie got off. He hefted his bow. "Stay tight," he cautioned her. She nodded and yanked a portion of the fence back. The crossed the yard past the playground toward the low building. It looked like a daycare center, one that had been abandoned a very long time ago.

She broke out a window as Daryl stood outside, scanning the area slowly. He heard her unzip her backpack and the gentle rustling of plastic packages. Not seeing any immediate threats, he followed her through the window, seeing her loading up with bottles and cloth diapers. He glanced around, seeing a wall filled with colorful construction paper hands, likely traced by the children here. He took a step closer to the wall. Each hand had a name written on it. One small one in particular caught his eye, bearing the name "Sofie." He sighed and shook his head sadly.

Maggie followed him into a dark hallway, and he flicked on his flashlight. He found a room down the hall filled with tables and art supplies. _Nothing we can use,_ he thought and backed out. He headed back toward Maggie, finding what looked like a kitchen. There was some scuffling noises coming from there. _Of course_, he thought. _The one place we need to go. Naturally this couldn't be an easy run._

They stepped inside, seeing a wooden door, presumably a pantry, moving as something shifted around inside.

Maggie glanced at him as he lifted his bow, aiming toward the door. He nodded to her, and she stepped over to it, pulling it open and stepping back quickly.

His mind instantly accepted what he saw there and let his arrow fly. It connected with the head of a possum. He nodded to the girl, stepping forward to grab the critter. "Hello, dinner," he said.

She rolled her eyes and moved over to some cupboards above a counter. "I'm not puttin' that in my bag," she said. She paused, and he could feel her eyes on her. "U-um, Daryl," she hedged. "I -I'm real sorry, about - you know. Adair."

She watched as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly for an instant, grimacing. He cleared his throat gruffly, not meeting her eyes. "I'd rather not talk about...that, just now," he said quietly, his voice rough but not unkind. "If you don't mind."

"Sure, of course," she rushed to say, her eyes wide as though she were surprised that he didn't fly off the handle with her. "I-I only meant that, well. When you're - If you ever- Well, I'm here, if -"

He half-smirked at her discomfort in spite of himself. "Thanks." He cleared his throat again, desperate to change the subject, to force down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "You find anything?"

Maggie opened the cupboard door, finding three large cans of formula. "Sure did," she said with a smile, loading them up.

:O:O:O:

They roared on the bike through the darkness. As they neared the prison, Daryl was able to faintly hear Glenn's shout over the motor, "Guys, they're back! Open it up!"

He pushed the bike faster, past the walkers that were milling toward them. Even over the engine he could hear that awful noise they made. He slowed just briefly, giving Oscar enough time to pull back the gate just far enough so they could squeeze through and he zoomed past the man, pulling to a stop on the upper yard, by the other vehicles.

They jumped off the bike and hurried into the cellblock where everyone except Rick was gathered. Carl was holding the baby as before and she was still crying, loudly. Daryl walked up, yanking his poncho off as Maggie dumped her bag on the table, pouring out the contents. Beth stepped over to help her sort through the items and get a bottle made.

"How's she doin'?" Daryl asked the boy, reaching for the baby. "Shh, shh," he whispered soothingly to the infant, cradling her gently.

Beth crossed the room to him, handing him a bottle, something like amazement in her eyes as she took in the sight of him holding the infant girl. He took the bottle from her and ignored her, turning his attention back to the baby. He placed the nipple of the bottle at her lips, and they instantly latched on, sucking greedily.

"Come on, come on," he murmured encouragingly. He glanced around, unable to keep the small smile off his face as the baby ate. "She got a name yet?"

"Not yet," Carl replied. "But I was thinkin' maybe Sophia. Carol too. Andrea...Amy. Jacqui. Patricia. Or...Lori. I dunno." He turned away.

Everyone grew quiet, silent, reflecting on the names of the women they had known and lost in the span of a year.

Daryl studied him for a moment before looking back down at the baby. "You like that?" he murmured to her, her tiny lips still busy pulling hungrily at the bottle. "Huh, Lil' Ass-Kicker?" He glanced around, hearing chuckles. "Right? That's a good name, right?" He grinned. "You like that, sweetheart?"

Later that night, when the baby was satiated and fast asleep, Daryl jogged up the steps to his perch. His eyes immediately went to Adair's cell. He hesitated for a moment before striding over to her cell. Her pack was still on top of her cot, neatly stuffed with all her things, her sleeping bag rolled and attached to the bottom. His fingers went for the zippered pouch on the side, where he'd seen her retrieve the picture she'd showed him one night during one of their marathon chats.

He pulled the photo from the pocket, zipping it closed and walking out of her cell. He couldn't stand to be in there one moment longer; it still smelled like her, the soft, fruity fragrance that clung to her hair after she washed it. The clean, fresh scent of her freshly laundered clothing. The inexplicable vanilla-cinnamon scent of her skin.

He walked back to his perch and lay down on top of his sleeping bag. He reached for the flashlight and turned it on. The picture was of Adair's parents, her most prized possession, she told him. It was all she had of them, the only reminder of her life before everyone had started dying. He studied the picture for a moment, his eyes going over the features of her father and her mother, and he could pick out her features in them.

He tucked the picture under his pillow, taking care to make sure the edges didn't bed. He turned his flashlight off as he listened to the heavy breaths of his sleeping comrades and the newborn baby. Now. Now he could let his thoughts drift to Adair.

He didn't want to think of her being dead, couldn't accept it. But the rational part of his mind knew that she was an able-bodied woman. She'd survived basically on her own for almost a year, and he'd seen her handle herself in battle, with or without weapons. She was tough, she was goddamn strong. If there was any way that she could have escaped the walkers, he knew she would have wasted no time in returning to their cellblock. But the attack had been hours ago. He felt like getting up to look for her, but his instincts told him it would be to no end. He'd either find her dead, or worse, turned.

The lump returned to his throat and for a moment, it was almost too much to bear. He was vaguely surprised at his own grief. He hadn't known her for very long. But he felt as close to her as he could have had he known her a year. Hell, he felt like he'd known her his whole life, after telling her things about him no one else on this fucked planet knew.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, bringing his hands up to his forehead. He hated the fact that the last words they'd exchanged had been angry ones. He'd been too proud, too caught up in his own inadequacy to make it a point to talk to her right away, to tell her how much he wanted her to stay. To tell her she'd been right about Axel and Oscar - so far. He wished he could have seen her bright smile up close, seen that dimple he'd come to adore dig into her cheek, letting him know that things were really all right.

He'd never get that chance now, and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

:O:O:O:

At dawn, he woke from a restless sleep when the warms rays crept through the barred windows and fell over him. He rubbed his eyes, then hauled himself up. He had a personal errand he wanted to run before everyone woke up. Glenn had told him last night that he, Axel and Oscar had dug three body-less graves. One for T-Dog. One for Lori. One for Adair.

Daryl walked out toward the field, immediately seeing the grave markers. Broken pieces of wood had been tied together to form crosses. Three crosses, atop three graves. Someone had used rocks to form the initial of the person the grave was meant for. There was a "T". There was an "L". And an "A". He paused in front of the grave marked with an "A", suddenly mesmerized by the letter. The lump in his throat seemed to grow, having never dissipated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white, the color bursting from a copse of grass along the edge of the fence. He looked over at it, amazed at what he saw.

Cherokee rose blossoms.

He jogged over to them, reaching out, fingering the silky petals curiously. He hadn't seen them before, and he'd been all around the perimeter fences. He recalled the one time where he'd brought Carol this flower, on Hershel's farm, after Sophia had died. He'd told her the legend of the Trail of Tears, how the blossoms had grown when the mothers' tears had hit the ground, mourning for their lost children.

He wondered if these had blossomed for Adair, from his unshed tears.

Using his knife, he carefully cut a blossom from the stem. He carried it back over to the gravesite and knelt down. He gaze down at it in his hand for a moment. He saw only Adair's face in the soft white blossom. She was his Cherokee rose.

He carefully pulled the photo of her parents out of his pocket, studying it again for a moment in the soft light of the rising sun. As he recalled her face, he decided she was a perfect blend between her parents. Her velvety gray eyes had been a gift from her mother, along with the creamy hue of her skin that tempered the olive complexion from her father. She had her mother's full lips, her wide, gentle smile. Even the dimple in her cheek.

From her father, she had her long, straight, silky-fine black hair, her arching dark brows and thick black lashes. She had a smaller, more delicate version of his hawk-bridged nose, had his high, round cheekbones. Like her father, she always held her head high, her neck long and graceful. Stoicism radiated from her, no matter what she was doing. It was a part of her. Pride and nobility, handed down for tens of thousands of years through the rich Cherokee culture, flowed in her blood and was evident in every line of her.

He gently slid the photo under one of the rocks in her initial. He brought the flower to his face, brushing the petals to his lips briefly before laying it gently down next to the picture. He rested his hand on the rough wooden cross for a moment, silently saying his final goodbyes.

When he returned to the cellblock, the group was up and gathered for breakfast. Rick, he noted, was not among them.

"I saw him," Glenn said, when Daryl asked after his whereabouts. "Yesterday. In the hallways. He, uh - he had slaughtered a whole bunch of walkers. I think he was going for the boiler room."

"The boiler room?" Hershel asked sharply. By now, everyone knew that was where Lori, Maggie and Carl had ended up, where Lori's baby had been born, where Lori had died. Where Carl had been forced to put a bullet in his mother's brain.

They all sat quietly with their bowls of cereal. Daryl sat in his normal spot on the chairs, studying the boy. Ever since he'd found out what Carl had done, he'd worried about the boy. Carl was pale and silent, poking at his breakfast with his spoon. His face was immobile as it had been yesterday.

Suddenly, the door to the cellblock, leading to the hallways, and Rick stepped into the room. Daryl noticed he had cleaned up, showered, changed his clothes.

"Everybody ok?" the man asked as everyone turned toward him in surprise.

"Yeah, we are," Carl said, relief in his voice.

"How about you?" Hershel asked gently.

Rick lowered his eyes. "Cleared out the boiler block," he replied.

"How many were there?" Daryl asked, noting the haggard look on the man's face.

"I don't know. Dozen. Two dozen." Rick reached down and patted Carl's shoulder. "Just wanted to check on Carl." He turned to leave as Glenn rose from his seat at the table.

"Rick, we can handle taking out the bodies," he said urgently. "You don't have to do that."

"No, I do," Rick responded. He crossed the room to stand in front of Daryl. "Does everyone have a gun and a knife?"

"Yeah," Daryl replied. "Runnin' low on ammo, though."

"Maggie and me were planning on making a run soon," Glenn said. "Maybe tomorrow. Found a phone book, gonna hit some places we can get ammo and formula."

"Cleared out the generator room," Daryl added. "Axel's there tryin' to fix it. Case of emergency. We're gonna sweep the lower levels, as well."

Rick nodded. "Good. Good." He turned on his heel, striding across the commons area, through the door.

"Rick," Hershel called, but Rick ignored him, his bootsteps echoing down the hall. Daryl was curious as to where he was going off to with such purpose, but decided that the man deserved as much time to himself as he wanted. Daryl could easily handle looking out for the group in his absence.

After they'd eaten, Daryl, Oscar and Carl headed down to the lower levels of the prison. Carl had silently gathered up his gun and stood next to the door, waiting for them, not asking for permission to accompany them. Daryl decided it wasn't worth arguing. He and Oscar could take care of him.

After the devastating attack, it was imperative that they make sure they got the prison as "clean" as possible. There was no telling just how many walkers had flooded into the prison at Andrew's prodding.

Carl insisted on walking right next to Daryl as they slowly made their way through the bowels of the prison. They turned down a hallway, their bootsteps echoing loudly off the hard walls. A sudden soft slamming noise met their ears, and Daryl swung his bow up toward the sound. There was a door in wall to their right. The bottom part of the door appeared to be jammed into the ground, the top part of the door bowed out slightly. It kept slamming against the door frame, as if someone was inside.

"Check it out, man," Oscar said softly, shining his light on the door. "Musta missed it last night."

"Probably just one or two of 'em." Daryl reached out and tested the door, listening to the soft, dry breathing from inside. He used his index finger to hold the door closed. The pressure he felt from the walker on the other side barely made his finger move at all. "Don't look like they got much fight. They ain't goin' nowhwere. We'll take care of it on the way back."

Oscar nodded and stepped back, to check the other direction of the hallway. Daryl sauntered past Carl, who was staring off into space. Daryl whistled softly to get his attention. When the boy turned, Daryl jerked his head forward.

"Come on," he said softly. He shined his flashlight around the floor and walls so they could see where they were stepping. "Y'know, my mom, she liked the wine. She liked to smoke in bed. Virginia Slims. I was playin out with the kids in the neighborhood. I could do that with Merle gone." He stepped to the wall, seeing another door there, and shined his flashlight inside to see a bare room. "They had bikes, I didn't. We heard sirens gettin' louder. Jumped on their bikes, ran after it, y'know. Hopin' to see something worth seein'. I ran after them but I couldn't keep up. Ran around the corner, saw my friends lookin' at me. Hell, saw everybody lookin at me. Firetrucks everywhere, people in the neighborhood." He moved to other side of the hallway, spotting an offshoot. He peeked his head in to check it. "It was my house they were for. That was my mom in bed, burnt down to nothin'. That was the hard part. She was just gone. Erased. nothin' left of her. People said it was better that way." He chuckled. "I dunno. Made it seem like it wasn't real, y'know."

Carl sighed. "Shot my mom. She was out. Hadn't turned yet." He paused, looking up at Daryl with hard eyes. "I ended it. it was real." After a moment, he looked up at Daryl, a little boy again. "Sorry about your mom."

"Sorry about yours," Daryl returned, reaching out to pat the boy's shoulder. "Come on."

Oscar rejoined them, and they kept on, turning down hallway after hallway. They were mostly clear, with one or two walkers here and there. _Rick really did a number,_ Daryl mused.

They turned down a row of cells and headed slowly down, Daryl sweeping his flashlight from side to side.

"Oh, that's what I'm talkin' about!" At the sound of Oscar's voice, Daryl whipped around, seeing the tall man duck into a cell. Daryl backtracked and stepped inside, seeing the man crouch down to pick up a discarded pair of slippers off the floor.

"What the hell you need slippers for?" Daryl asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Oscar shot him a look as if he were crazy. "You don't? End of the day, to relax!" Daryl smirked.

Suddenly, growling erupted and Daryl whirled around as Oscar jumped to his feet. A walker leered into the cell, inches behind Daryl. He let an arrow fly as Carl and Oscar both opened fire. The walker went down immediately.

Daryl exhaled sharply, having been more startled than he cared to admit. "All right," he commended his comrades, before stepping forward to yank the arrow free. He shined his flashlight down, seeing a small knife protruding from the side of its forehead. It looked like it had been jabbed in at an angle, quickly, as though the stabber had been in a hurry.

"Must have been in the cell at the end," Oscar mused. "We checked everywhere else."

Daryl pulled the knife out. It came out easily enough, telling him that it hadn't connected with the brain. He examined it closely.

"That's Adair's knife," he observed, his brow furrowing. He wiped the blade off on the walker's uniform, gripping the handle tightly in his hand as he glared down at the morbid creature.

"Oscar," he said, his voice low and even. "You take Carl back to the cellblock for me."

Something in the man's tone left no room for discussion, and Oscar nodded, placing a hand on Carl's shoulder. "You got it, man," he said quietly. "Come on, little man." He ushered Carl away.

When they were gone, Daryl hefted his crossbow, heading back to the hallway where the weak walkers had been in the storage closet, Adair's knife still clutched in his hand. He felt like killing something.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note - All right y'all...my favorite chapter thus far. I really hope you like it, because I put my heart and soul into this chapter. I would also like to tell you that I HIGHLY recommend that you go on iTunes or YouTube and find "Leave Out All the Rest" by Linkin Park and listen to it while reading. I wrote this chapter, the beginning portion at least, with this song on repeat and it SO perfectly complemented it. As some of you know, LP is one of my favorite bands and this is one of my favorite songs of theirs. It's completely heartwrenching and was the perfect backdrop of this song. I truly believe it won't read the same unless you put the song on repeat and read the chapter. **

**Without further ado...**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**Recommended soundtrack: Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park; Fade Into You by Mazzy Star**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 13**

He glared down at the two dead walkers bodies in the hallway with new hatred. He set his crossbow down against the wall, hearing the door to the storage room he, Oscar and Carl had passed earlier start to slam gently again. _Ain't your turn yet,_ he thought angrily. _Just wait._

He kicked the walker closest to him several times, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his boot as he connected. Rage overtook him, and he literally blacked out for a moment. When his vision returned, the walker he'd started with was halfway down the hall, the other walker that had been lying nearby was now a pile mush next to his feet after his tirade.

He glared down at it, breathing hard. _Was it you? Did you do it? Did you bite her, rip her throat out? Did you enjoy her sweet blood pouring down your throat? Did she cry, did she scream? Would you have recognized the sounds if she had?_

He kicked and stomped its head several more times, his eyes stinging.

After his fit of anger, Daryl slid down the wall in the hallway, clutching his head in his hands. Normally, he didn't lose self-control like that. Ever. But he felt overwhelmed; he felt like he was drowning in his grief.

The door was hitting the frame, over and over, the sound reverberating annoyingly. The walker inside had no doubt heard his tirade and gotten worked up in a bloodlust. With as weak as it had seemed earlier, it was undoubtedly eager for his flesh and blood.

He crouched against the wall for some time, silent, still, until he could stand the noise no longer, the sound grating horribly on his nerves. With a growl, he abruptly stood, yanking Adair's knife from the sheath at his belt. He was going to slice, stab, and gut this fucker, and he was going to enjoy it. And with Adair's knife. Something like sweet vengeance flooded his system. _Hope you're watchin', honey,_ he thought, briefly glancing upward before striding for the door.

He walked up to the door, grasping the edge of it and yanking it back. It hardly budged, the bottom of the door apparently latched into the ground. It infuriated him so much that he started kicking the door as hard as he could, until the bottom of it broke finally from the latch. He yanked it back, seeing the faint shadow of a figure lying on the floor. _Hope you're ready for this, asshole._ He snatched his flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on, intending to make sure he could watch and enjoy every piece of this.

He froze, shock grabbing him, before he stumbled backward a few steps in horrified dismay. He'd known it was a possibility, had accepted that. Seeing it was totally different.

She lay on her stomach, her legs sprawled toward the door. She was trying to twist her body around to face him, struggling to lift her shaky head. Her long, fine black hair flowed over her back, freed of its knot, her forehead splattered with blood. She lifted an arm toward him, some sort of heavily bloodstained rag wrapped around it. He saw that she only wore a black bra, apparently having taken her shirt off to wrap around the bite that was undoubtedly on her arm.

His heart dropped through his stomach, onto the ground, through the floor, a hundred thousand feet below sea level as he took a few more shaky steps backwards, his back hitting the wall. Her worst nightmare had come true, after all. _Goddammit, Adair,_ he thought, grief-stricken. _You didn't deserve that._ He bent over at the waist, bracing his hands on knees, squeezing his eyes shut as his breath came fast, hard.

Finally, he slowly lifted his head, clenching and unclenching the knife, watching her mouth open and close as she reached for him. Her pale eyes reflected in the light of his torch. He knew what he needed to do, what he had to do. He just had to make his body move.

With a tremendous effort, he pushed away from the wall, taking a few hesitant steps into the small space. He thought about driving the knife into her skull then, but he'd made her a promise. She'd asked him not to do it that way. Besides, there was something terrible about the idea of putting her down with her own weapon. The very least he could do, was put her down as she'd asked, since he hadn't been able to keep her safe. _But you still suffered. You asked me not to let you suffer. I let you down. I'm so sorry._

He went back out into the hallway to get his crossbow. He stepped back into the room, hefting it, holding his flashlight in his shaking supporting hand as he took aim. His eyes stung again, and although he had no point of reference, this had to be what a breaking heart felt like.

Her hand opened as her arm stayed in the air, her body moving a little faster. It sounded like she was trying to make that awful hissing noise. He'd better end it quickly.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, then peered through his sights, drawing bead on the middle of her pale forehead, his finger on the trigger. He started to squeeze it gently –

"Daryl!" The raspy whisper broke through the stillness and he froze again, unable to believe his ears. "Daryl, don't!"

Shock claimed him for the second time in twice as many minutes. He couldn't have been more stunned than if the pile of mush a few feet away suddenly got to its feet and started tapdancing.

He was hardly aware he'd dropped his bow. It was just that one moment it had been in his hands, and in the next instant, it was on the floor.

It was the same sensation for his body – one moment, he was standing, staring at her, the next, he was on his knees at her side, grasping her, turning her over, pulling her up in his arms.

"Jesus, Adair," he whispered shakily, not trusting his voice to speak aloud. "I thought –"

"Ain't bit," she managed weakly. Her voice was hardly above a whisper and he realized she had to be so dehydrated from the blood loss.

"I'll get you out of here, you're gonna be ok," he told her thickly. He quickly strapped his bow over his back, then knelt next to her again, sliding an arm beneath her shoulders and one under her knees. It was like she weighed nothing at all as he rose swiftly to his feet. As he raced through the hallways back to their cellblock, he couldn't stop looking down at her face. She was dirty, and pale, with a nasty gash on her head and the wound to her arm. But in his arms, her face was serene.

He burst into the commons area of the cellblock. Carol was holding the baby and turned around, alarmed, her face changing at the sight of what he carried in his arms.

"Hershel?" he asked harshly, panting. She quickly nodded toward C-block. "Carl!" he bellowed and the boy appeared in no time, the keys jangling in his hands.

"Holy –" the boy started shout, his eyes widening at the sight of Adair.

"Hurry!" Daryl barked. Carl unlocked the cell quickly. Daryl barreled through, going for a cell on the lower level, not wanting to waste any time running up the stairs to lay her down. "Hershel!" he shouted. "Hershel!"

The older man had heard him enter the commons area, seen him rush past his cell with the girl in his arms, and had immediately started getting supplies together in his bag. Beth held his bag as he stumped quickly to the cell.

"Give me some room, son," Hershel said calmly, and Daryl stepped just outside the cell, chewing at his thumbnail anxiously.

"Adair, darlin'?" Hershel asked her as he lowered himself to the edge of the cot. Daryl heard her mumble something.

"Beth, water," Hershel instructed her, and the girl took off, returning in record time with a bottle. Hershel took the lid off and poured a little into her mouth. He took a stethoscope out of the bag, putting the tips in his ears and the other end against her chest. He listened intently for a moment, before turning to the wound on her arm. He unwound the bloody shirt from her arm.

Daryl winced at the sight underneath – a wide, open gash. The shirt had clotted the blood, but at its removal, it started to seep again.

Hershel pulled back in alarm, and Daryl instantly knew what he was thinking. "It ain't a bite, she said," he told the elderly man quickly. Hershel nodded and leaned down closer to inspect it.

"Gonna need stitches, sweetheart," Hershel told her, his tone soothing. "This is going to sting."

Hershel cleaned her wound quickly, and Adair hissed weakly in pain at the stinging sensation of the hydrogen peroxide. With surprising dexterity, Hershel threaded a needle with medical thread and stitched up her arm. "Gauze, Bethie." The girl reached into his bag and handed him a roll of white gauze. He wrapped it around Adair's arm, finishing it off by securing it with medical tape.

Next, he looked at the cut on her head. It wasn't quite as severe as the gash on her arm, though it had bled quite a bit. He cleaned the wound and bandaged it as well. With the blood cleaned off, Daryl saw that it didn't look so bad. It also allowed him to see the bump and nasty bruise forming along with it.

"Knocked you out, this bump?" Hershel asked her. She nodded slightly. He pulled a penlight from his pocket, gently holding up her reluctant eyelids, checking her pupils.

"Might have a little concussion," he said gently. He held up three fingers. "How many?"

"Three," he heard her voice rasp.

"What's your last name?"

"T-trottingwolf." She took a breath, trying to clear her throat. "I also rolled or broke my right ankle."

Hershel turned to unlace her boot, pulling it off with her sock. Her ankle was swollen, a dark bruise blossoming on the ankle. He rotated it gently, gauging her reaction. He pressed his fingers against it, feeling the bones.

"Doesn't feel broken. I think you have a bad sprain. It helped that you had your boot laced nice and tight around it. I'll wrap it up tight for you, but I think you'll be ok, honey. If only we had some ice. You need fluids, you need rest, and by God, but you need a bath. Daryl, can you get her up to her cell? Bethie, you give her a sponge bath. Keep that foot elevated."

After Hershel wrapped her ankle tightly and showed Daryl and Beth how to do it, Daryl swept her up again. The relief he felt was so intense, he wanted to collapse. He carried her gingerly up the stairs, past his perch, down the row to the very last cell. He shouldered inside past the door and laid her down as gently as he could, then stepped quickly to his perch to get his pillow. He handed it to Beth.

"To prop up her ankle," he muttered, and Beth nodded and took the pillow from him, sliding it under Adair's tightly wrapped ankle. She reached for the zipper of Adair's shorts, then paused, looking over her shoulder at Daryl. She gave him a meaningful look and he quickly stepped out so Beth could administer the sponge bath. She also had opened up a packet of orange powder into the bottle of water to make Adair drink at Hershel's order.

Daryl didn't know what to do with himself, so he went back to the commons area and paced like a caged animal. Finally, he sat down on the stairs, staring off into the distance, his hands steepled in front of his mouth.

Carol stepped out into the area a while later and walked over to him, gently rocking the baby girl in her arms. She looked down at him sympathetically, noting she'd never before seen the man so shaken as he was now.

"Daryl," she said quietly, drawing his eyes finally as her presence had not. His blue eyes looked at her, but she could tell he was somewhere else. Balancing the baby, she placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes sharpened, then focused. "Relax. Ok? She's going to be fine." She brought her hand back up to support the baby, still watching his face.

He broke from her gaze, nodding. "Yeah." He paused, then surprised her when he spoke again. He was usually a man of very few words, with almost everyone but Adair, apparently. "I just – losin' T-Dog. Lori. Rick's gone off the deep-end. Then her. I just feel like I'm slidin' off the deep end."

Carol's eyes involuntarily watered as she thought of her lost friends. She shook her head quickly. "Don't do that," she said softly. "You –we all – need to focus on the positive. We have this beautiful, healthy baby girl. We're healthy. And we got Adair back, thanks to you. Rick's mourning. He'll be back. You watch. He will." She glanced up, seeing Beth in the doorway. "Hey."

"Hey, uh – she's sleepin' now," Beth offered to Daryl. "I gave her a bath and Daddy gave her some painkillers, made her drink more of that orange stuff. I think she's comfortable."

Daryl nodded, closing his eyes briefly at her words. "I'm gonna go outside, scout, make sure everything's all right," he said gruffly. The women nodded and exchanged a look as he swept up his bow and hurried out the door.

He headed down to the far perimeter of the fences, ignoring Glenn's shout of "Whatcha doing? Need some help?" from above in guard tower where he was with Maggie. He checked to make sure the hole they'd cut was tied up securely. He made sure the walkers nearby weren't amassing in huge numbers – there were only two across the pond. He walked all around the prison, making sure the fences and gates were all secured and locked. He walked to the vehicles and checked them, making sure the tires were good and unpunctured, the oil levels were optimal, there was enough gas. He re-entered the prison to fetch an ax, and went back to the hole in the perimeter fence and slipped through. He chopped more firewood, figuring they should have enough on hand to burn walker bodies, and other possible reasons they could want firewood. He chopped for an hour, until his arms and back started to ache and he was covered in sweat. He carried the firewood to the upper yard and dropped the logs in a heap. He glanced over his shoulder as he panted. He wasn't ready to go inside yet.

Finally, he walked slowly down the gravel path, toward the small makeshift graveyard. He paused, looking down at the markers for Lori and T-Dog. He stepped over to the marker for Adair and leaned down, plucking the photo and the Cherokee rose from the small patch of dirt before he picked up each rock forming the letter "A" and threw them away, one by one, as hard and far as he could. He pulled the wooden cross up from the ground and set it aside. _Only two graves now,_ he thought. _Just_ two.

He twirled the flower between his fingers again as he had before, studying the pristine white blossom. He walked over to the area he'd found it yesterday, discarding the one he held and used his knife to cut a fresh one.

He walked back to the prison, avoiding the stares of the others, and went to his perch. He decided he wanted a shower, so he pulled clean clothes from his pack. He had a water bottle that was three-quarters full. He twisted the cap off and popped the stem of the blossom in the bottle. He carried it over to Adair's cell, pausing in the doorway, hesitating.

Her previously grimy skin was clean, her hair brushed smooth and Beth had twisted the long strands into a slightly messy side braid over her shoulder. Beth had changed her out of her dirty clothing, replacing it with a simple, clean white ribbed tank top. Her face was back to its creamy olive complexion, and there was even a little color in her cheeks. Her long, thick black lashes rested against her cheeks like closed butterfly wings. The gash in her forehead strangely did not mar her loveliness in his eyes. If anything, it added to it and the beauty of her face in repose made his heart ache a little. He set the bottle and the photo down on the floor next to the bunk and quietly walked out to take his shower.

When he re-entered the commons area, he noticed that Carol had prepared a small meal. Hershel sat at the table, feeding the infant girl a bottle of formula. Carol smiled when she saw him, gesturing over her shoulder.

"There's soup, and some saltines. Some peanut butter. I'm going to run this out to Glenn and Maggie," she gestured to the large bowl she carried in her hands, a small box of crackers under her arm. "But help yourself."

"I'll take it to them," Daryl said gruffly, reaching out. "You shouldn't be wanderin' around by yourself."

Carol dodged his hand. "I'll be fine," she returned gently. "You've done enough for today. Just sit and eat." She slipped out.

Shrugging, Daryl picked up a bowl of tomato soup. He nodded at Hershel . "How's she doin'?"

Hershel chuckled as he adjusted the baby in his arms, sucking greedily at her bottle. "She's doin' very well. Healthy appetite, feisty little thing. Just like her mama." His eyes twinkled down at her.

Daryl smiled faintly, watching the baby a moment more, before retreating to the staircase to eat his soup and crackers. Presently Carl joined him, sitting a couple steps below him. The boy didn't speak, and after their previous conversation Daryl didn't see much more that needed to be said. Carl seemed to be fine with the silent camaraderie, turning to nod at Daryl before turning his attention to his soup.

Carol returned shortly. She went to take the baby from Hershel, but he gestured toward the bowls of soup, silently tell her to eat. After their meal, Daryl, Carl and Carol sat in silence, watching Hershel with the tiny girl. The elderly gentleman burped her gently, then held her until she fell asleep.

"Time you had somethin' to eat," Carol said gently. "I'll go lay her down." She took the baby from Hershel and walked into C-block.

Beth appeared in the doorway. "Daddy, Adair's awake. I think she needs more painkillers."

Hershel nodded. "Give her two from the bottle in my bag, all right?"

Beth nodded and disappeared. Daryl saw her disappear into the cell she shared with her father and then run up the stairs.

He hadn't realized he was still staring at the staircase, his thoughts taking him someplace else, when Hershel's voice snapped him back to reality.

"You all right, son?" the elderly gentleman asked.

"Fine," Daryl replied automatically.

"She is going to be all right," Hershel reassured him. Daryl nodded.

"Think I'll go get some twigs for some bolts," he replied. "Then go relieve Glenn and Maggie from guard duty."

"It's gettin' dark – you think you should be out there looking for twigs?"

"Be fine," Daryl replied. "Be quick."

He made good on his word, gathering half a dozen appropriate size twigs before heading up to guard tower.

"We'll, uh, be back in a few hours," Glenn said, glancing at Maggie.

Daryl smirked. "Up to you."

For the next few hours, he used his knife to whittle the twigs into arrows, lost in his thoughts. He didn't know how to interpret what he was feeling right now, beyond relief and some other overwhelming emotion knowing that Adair was alive and was going to be ok. He was almost afraid for her to wake up and talk to him. He didn't know what to say to her that wouldn't make him sound like a huge idiot.

He felt responsible for her getting lost in the first place. If he'd just gone up to talk to her, she wouldn't have been alone. He could have protected her, but he let her down. He knew she wouldn't see it or view it that way; she'd make some little joke or remark about his timing and that would be that.

What he really wanted to tell her was how he thought he'd been dreaming when she'd rasped out his name, how he'd been so relieved to know she hadn't been bit. That he'd felt like his heart was breaking when he thought he was going to have to put her down.

He wondered if she'd noticed how his hands had shaken when he'd pulled her to him, wondered if she'd felt his pounding heart in his chest when he'd picked her up. How he'd felt a jolt of electricity when his fingers had touched her cool but live flesh, how he'd held her close and tight when he carried her back.

He wondered if she knew how right before he'd burst into the commons area, he'd pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin.

He was surprised when he looked down, seeing he'd completed four new arrows when Glenn and Maggie returned. He gathered them up and turned to leave.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Daryl remarked as he exited the guard tower. When he entered the cellblock, the commons was empty, everyone having retired to their cells. He glanced briefly into Rick's cell, seeing it was still empty. He sighed.

Beth tiptoed down the stairs from the second level. "She's wakin' up," she whispered to him. "She saw the flower. She was askin' for you."

Daryl nodded, his heart starting to pound again. "Go on to bed. Me and Carol are up on the second floor if she would need anything."

"I put extra pain meds and her water by her bed," Beth said, eager for sleep.

Daryl took the stairs two at a time. He paused in the doorway of her cell, leaning against the frame, seeing her stirring slightly on her bunk. Her eyes were closed but hearing him, she whispered, "Hey."

"Hey," he returned. Her voice still sounded hoarse. "You been drinkin' your fluids like Hershel told you?" He reached up to grasp the top of the door frame.

"Been tryin'," she whispered back. She cracked her eyes open finally and looked at him, foggy with medication. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. Pulled my ass outta the fire. Saved my life. Again. Anyone ever tell you that you got impeccable timin'?"

"All the time. Don't worry, I'm keepin' track," he joked, taking one step inside her cell when she lifted her hand to beckon him closer. "Got quite the tab runnin'."

She glanced over the edge of the bed toward the water bottle with the flower. "You brought that for me." It wasn't a question. He nodded once, watching her face carefully.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. Her voice was going in and out, and she seemed to not be able to keep her eyes open under the induced drowsiness of the meds, but he understood what she was trying to say. "A Cherokee rose." Her eyes found his and held them.

He felt his face heat up. He felt that he, and the reason for his especial choice of the flower, was completely transparent. He nodded again slowly.

Her lips moved as she tried to say something, her voice failing her. He leaned forward. "What?"

She beckoned him closer again, her lips moving but no sound coming out.

"Do you need some water?" He leaned down and picked her bottle up from the floor, handing it to her. She raised up slightly and took a sip before handing it back to him and falling back against her pillow. She spoke again; this time he heard the whisper but couldn't make out the words.

"Still can't hear you," he replied. Impatiently, she beckoned him closer, patting the edge of the bunk to indicate she wanted him to sit. He obliged, perching on the edge of her bunk and twisting slightly to face her. "Now, what did you say?"

" –Daryl."

He shook his head, smiling slightly at her unintelligible whispering, putting a finger behind his earlobe to indicate she should try again.

She crooked a finger, tapping her ear, letting him know to bring it closer to her so she could speak into it. He lowered his head slightly.

"Come closer," she whispered hoarsely, trying to clear her throat. He felt her hand grasp at his shirt, and even through the material his skin heated up at her touch. He shifted uncomfortably, forcing her hand away from him.

He leaned down so that the side of his face was next to hers, and she could speak into his ear. "What are tryin' to tell me, now, trouble?" he asked softly in a lightly joking tone.

"I said," her whisper came over clear in his ear, "kiss me, Daryl."

He shifted his eyes to hers, pulling back slightly in total surprise. _"Wha—"_

Her warms lips silenced him, as she lifted her head off the pillow to meet his lips. He was so caught off guard, he looked down at her face, frozen, as her lips continued to press against his. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed slightly.

He suddenly unfroze, warmth flooding through him, when her lips started to move over his. Heart pounding, he leaned forward so that she could lay completely against the pillows and stop straining her neck. He hesitantly returned her kiss, eliciting a soft sigh from her when she felt his lips move gently against hers.

He drew back slightly, breaking the kiss, hardly believing it was happening. Her eyelids opened slightly, her sparkling, sleepy gray eyes finding his as her lips remained slightly pursed and parted.

"You best learn to say please, woman," he joked huskily, hating the way his voice shook, looking down at her and thinking he'd never seen anything so beautiful. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her dimple deepening in her cheek, as her hand weakly fumbled against his chest, clasping a handful of his shirt, tugging on it to make him come down toward her again.

He lowered his head back down to hers, taking her lips gently with his again. This time, he let his eyes fall shut. His hand slid up to her face, as though it had a mind of its own, and stroked her cheek gently. The kiss was sweet and so were her lips, the sweetest things he thought he'd ever tasted in his life, silky soft like her cheek.

Her lips stayed fused to his for a long moment, until he no longer felt them moving with his. He pulled back, opening his eyes, and saw with a half-smile that she'd fallen asleep, the medication having finally reclaimed her. He watched her face for another moment, seeing the slight, soft smile on her face as she slept, making his heart stop.

He got up as gently as he could, although he knew her slumber was medicated and she was not likely to wake until they wore off. He rearranged her covers over her and stroked her cheek again with the back of his finger. He watched her for a moment longer, then slipped quietly out of her cell and moved toward his perch.

He fell onto his sleeping bag, shoving his pack under his head as a pillow and folded his arms over his chest, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. His lips still felt warm from her kiss. He rubbed his bottom lip with his index finger, wondering if she'd actually been aware of what she'd been doing, since she was doped up on painkillers. Either way...it didn't matter to him, not in that moment. He shut his eyes, recalling the way her pillow-soft lips had moved gently against his. His heart thundered against his ribs at the memory.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a field full of Cherokee roses, with velvety gray centers instead of yellow, whose petals were soft as silk when he brushed them against his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note - Very, very happy that you guys seemed to like the last chapter :-) I've noticed that this story has gotten a lot of hits (YAY THANK YOU!) but I have a group of "the usual suspects" when it comes to reviews - for those of you who read, PLEASE PLEASE review! Send me PMs! Contact me in some way, I want to hear from you :-) *in a wheedling tone* I do homie shoutouts...**

**Speaking of!**

**Noir Chick - HEHE YES! I made you squeal! *fist pumps to nonexistent house music* Also I'm really happy that you followed my advice and listened to the song while reading - it just goes together so perfectly! And yes I did my best to check all the boxes - heartwrenching moments for our poor hero - check. Nick of time rescue - check. Arm porn - check. First kiss - check. And holy shit, you REread it - amazing! You rock!**

**StupidStef666 - I know! Finally! WOO HOO! And...your wish is my command :-)**

**MadeInIreland - I'm quite certain that I would die if Norman/Daryl ever KISSED ME to SLEEP! EEEK! And I'm pretty sure I'm going to say "lovely jubbly" for the rest of my life - that is awesome :-D**

**lollipop112 - YES! I love the squealers! I'm validated as a writer! :-D**

**isopt - When I read your review I couldn't help thinking it in a kitty voice - "puuuuuuuuuurfec" :-) Thanks SO MUCH for your review!**

**piratejessieswaby - Yay! Glad you loved it!**

**FanFicGirl10 - Thank you! Ok man we have GOT to do something about this Carol animosity you are carrying around with you :-)**

**Fallon-Idalia - I know! Poor guy. He's like a fish out of water. You'll see in this chapter he doesn't even know what "butterflies" are lol. Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu for your review :-D**

**Leyshla-Gisel - ANOTHER SQUEALER! YES! Yes I loooove it when he does that...sexxxxxxxxxxy! And WOW magical stiff boner? That MIGHT be the most EPIC THING I have ever encountered on this here site...**

**loveorpain - AMAZEBALLS! THATS WHAT! :-)**

**sparklekris39 - Hey, thank you SO much! That is so nice of you, and I freaking love that you freaking love my story :-) Breath of fresh air, eh? Well *puff puff* read on homie!**

**Lorem Tenebrae - What can I say? I delivers :-) Glad you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!**

** - Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed :-) More on the way!**

**I'm going to be taking a quick break from the canon plot here to draw out the story a bit more. Since I am following the plot, I realized that I'm going to have to come to a stop here pretty soon while I wait for season 3 to pick up. (Ducks the hail of tomatoes being thrown at me) Also by my count, on the show, but the time they ended the mid-series finale, the group had only been at the prison for like, four days or some such craziness? So I've taken the liberty of adding a couple days here and there to give these poor folks a break, and get in some more Adair/Daryl QT time. Enjoy! Review! Tell your friends and neighbors! :-)**

**Recommended soundtrack: Benjamin by Veruca Salt; **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 14**

Daryl woke with a start at dawn. He hadn't intended to sleep so long, but his body's need for sleep must have caught up with him. He roused himself and put his socks and boots on, then got to his feet. He peeked into Adair's cell briefly. She lay perfectly still – he was certain in the position he'd left her last night – and she appeared to be sleeping soundly. He lingered just a moment more, unable to pull his eyes from her face. Watching her in her peaceful slumber made him feel strangely relaxed. It was refreshing to see that it was still possible to sleep deeply, comfortably, when monsters were on the loose in the world.

The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon when he made his way down to the second level of the prison into the commons area. He went to the shower room to splash cold water on his face and brush his teeth. When he returned, he encountered Hershel and Carol, holding the baby, feeding her a bottle.

"Anything from Rick?" Daryl asked, briefly cupping the baby's head and rubbing it gently with his thumb as she drank in Carol's arms and stared up at him with wide dark blue eyes.

"Ran into him. He's in the boiler room still," the elderly gentleman replied evenly. "We chatted for a bit. Says he's not quite ready to join us just yet. Needs a little more time to himself."

Daryl's eyes narrowed. Though Hershel was perfectly calm and collected, there was something in the man's eyes that made Daryl feel that wasn't entirely the whole story. Nonetheless, he decided not to push it.

"All right. Well, I'm gonna go up to the guard tower. Relieve Glenn and Maggie."

"Relieve Oscar," Hershel corrected. Daryl looked at him curiously. "He went up at three to cover the fort until you woke."

Daryl nodded. "Best head out, then." He turned on his heel and exited the cellblock, heading outside. The cool air belied the sweltering heat that was sure to come just as soon as the sun reached her position in the sky.

He jogged up the stairs to the tower, seeing Oscar leaning against the railing, his rifle against the door. He seemed to be enjoying the view of the sunrise. He turned slightly when he heard Daryl open the door behind him.

"Never thought I'd get the chance to watch a sunrise when I was a prisoner," he said contentedly. "Now that I can…I want to take every opportunity to enjoy it."

Daryl was mildly surprised. He had watched countless sunrises and sunsets in his life; they didn't mean much to him other than acting as another way to mark the time. But, he appreciated the man's sentiment nonetheless. He was all for finding things to appreciate about this new, brutal world they were thrust into.

"Head on in," Daryl said, clapping his shoulder. "Probably gonna start gettin' breakfast together soon. Catch a nap."

Oscar nodded, leaning down to hand Daryl the rifle and the door shut behind him. Daryl heard his thundering footsteps down the stairs growing fainter the closer to the base he got.

Daryl leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the fields. He counted six walkers in the field beyond the perimeter fence, three actually at the fence and three beyond the pond. If he weren't afraid of drawing more walkers with the noise and also of wasting precious ammo, he would have enjoyed hefting the high-powered rifle, peering through sights, and picking them off, one by one.

As it was, the fence was secure – he'd quadruple-checked it yesterday – and they didn't pose much of a threat. He supposed at some point he and Glenn and Oscar could make their way over there and get rid of them.

His eyes shifted to the still-rising sun. For a moment, he tried to see it the way Oscar saw it, as an example of nature's beauty rather than a sign that he'd started his hunting trip too late. He took in the way the rays spilled over the field, highlighting the flecks of gold in the greenery, illuminating everything in a soft, golden glow. He cocked his head curiously.

_I reckon it is…right pretty,_ he thought. Unbidden, Merle's face popped up in his mind. Daryl rolled his eyes as he imagined Merle's reaction had Daryl ever uttered such words to him. The verbal abuse would have continued for weeks. He shoved the image aside and was contented, for the moment, to watch as the sun continued her trajectory into the sky.

"Good mornin'," a soft voice said behind him, and Daryl froze without turning around. He was startled at first, chiding himself for not paying attention to someone coming up behind him as he simultaneously realized who that someone was. He took a subtle deep breath through his nose to slow his suddenly galloping pulse and the strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach that made him feel almost queasy.

Finally he turned around, slowly, and felt queasy again – but not in a bad way. The sun hit Adair at an angle, highlighting the left side of her body. Her long black hair, freed from its messy braid, was damp from a fresh washing. The bandage on her forehead was off, the cut red but starting to heal, and she had fresh white gauze around her forearm. She wore tight-fitting olive pants today, rolled above the top of her boots with a white Texas Tech T-shirt, the sleeves and neck cut out to keep her cool in the heat. One boot was lazily unlaced; the other, on her right ankle, was laced tightly, the flesh-colored Ace bandage peeking above the top. She stood smiling shyly at him, a bowl in one hand and a plastic cup in the other, her hair flowing over her shoulder, glinting in the morning sunlight, and Daryl lost his breath for a moment.

"Mornin'," he finally managed. He cleared his throat, glancing away for a moment. She was so beautiful it hurt a little. He composed himself and glanced back at her. "A Texas Tech shirt, huh? This is Georgia, girl. You tryin' to start a riot?" His light tone belied his inner turmoil. He stiffened slightly as she stepped up next to him, giggling.

"Maybe," she drawled. He noticed her slight limp. "I've always been a bit of an anarchist, though. Fight the power and all that."

"What are you doin' walkin' around?" he asked her sternly. "You shouldn't be on that ankle. You shouldn't be up at all. You're probably still weak."

"I'm bringin' you breakfast, first off, so you're welcome," she retorted, and he was pleased to hear her smart mouth again. "Second, Hershel and Beth have been keepin' me full of sugary fluids and he stuffed some antibiotics down my throat. And as for my ankle, it doesn't hurt too bad today. I've been keepin' it wrapped up tight and elevated. I'm just hobblin' around now 'cause I'm scared to put weight on it. I'm just babyin' it." She handed Daryl the bowl and cup as her face darkened.

"Speakin' of babies," Adair said quietly. "I thought I kept dreamin' of cryin' babies when I was out. Come to find out, there is a real live baby with us. But before I could get too excited about that, I was told what happened to Lori." Her sad gray eyes met his as he sipped water from the cup. "And T-Dog." She shook her head. "I'm upset about it, and I hardly knew them. I can't imagine what y'all are goin' through." She looked at him again, but he couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm very sorry for your losses, Daryl," she said solemnly.

He nodded. "Thanks. Your losses, too."

She was silent for a moment, then said, "How's Rick? I haven't seen 'im."

Daryl shook his head and blew out a breath. "Bad off," he said honestly. "I ain't never seen him like this. He's completely withdrawn."

"He just lost his wife," Adair said gently. "That's traumatic in and of itself, but beyond that, they never got a chance to reconnect after their fall-out. He probably never got a chance to make it up with her, tell her he loved her." She shook her head. "I can't imagine what that poor man is goin' through." After a moment, she added, "But, he's strong though. He knows y'all need him, and he knows he's got a brand new baby girl. He'll come back. He just needs a moment to get his bearin's, is all."

Daryl nodded. "I'm sure you're right," he said quietly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning against the railing, staring out across the field. The sun picked out and highlighted the golden tones of her skin, and he noticed how stoic her profile was, the strong lines of her jaw, the smooth, rounded peaks of her cheekbones. His eyes settled on her lips, noting the way they pouted out in profile. His mind flew back to the previous night and his face heated up. She hadn't said anything about it, hadn't acted any differently toward him. He began to think she'd been so doped up, she hadn't remembered or realized what they'd done.

"Glenn mentioned…a gravesite," she said finally. "For Lori and T-Dog. I'd like to go pay my respects."

Daryl nodded, pointing eastward. "Over there. Can't miss it."

She leaned closer to him, craning her neck to peer in the direction he was pointing. The sweet, familiar fragrance of her hair tickled his nose.

"Oh, I see it," she said. She cocked her head. "Is that a third…plot?"

_Shit,_ Daryl thought, remembering. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, there were three," he said awkwardly. "We, uh…we thought…." He trailed off.

Adair's face changed, understanding creeping over her features. "That was for me," she stated evenly.

"Uh. Yeah," he said, looking away. "But after I found you, I took the cross down…took your initial off. No sense in havin' a grave for someone who ain't dead. Didn't disrupt the plot though…sorry about that."

He felt her hand rest on top of his gently and turned to look at her. She was smiling gently at him, shaking her head.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I'm actually really touched that y'all thought enough of me to bury me with your family." She shrugged. "Sounds weird, but that's really sweet. But…thank you for taking the markers down. It would be a bit disconcertin' to be standin' over my own grave." She pushed away from the railing carefully.

"You enjoy your breakfast," she said over her shoulder, limping toward the door. "I'll be down there." She paused at the door.

"If I didn't say this already," she began earnestly, "I'll say it now. Thank you, Daryl. If it hadn't been for you, I would be rotting in that storage closet still. You just keep savin' my life," she added softly, smiling. "I must be up to, what? A squillion, by now?"

Daryl laughed in spite of the disappointment in his gut. She really didn't remember. "Yeah. Something like that."

Adair flashed him his favorite smile, her dimple digging into her cheek, and pulled open the door, letting it fall shut behind her.

He stared after it for a moment, her soft, sweet scent lingering in the warming air, then sighed and turned back toward the fields, lost in his thoughts.

:O:O:O:

He returned to the cellblock some time later, when the sun was high in the sky. Hershel and Beth were playing with the still unnamed baby, Carol in the corner on the stairs, mending someone's shirt.

"Beth, you want watch for a couple hours?" he asked. That was not a task that usually befell the gangly teenage girl, but with Rick out, they could use all the extra help they could get. She nodded.

"I'll go with her!" Carl piped up, and Daryl bit back a grin at the boy's obviousness. Everyone knew he had a huge crush on the pretty blonde teen, including her father.

"All right," Hershel said. "You two go on. Be careful and keep your eyes open."

When they'd left, Daryl turned back to Hershel. "Where is everybody?"

"Glenn and Maggie went to get rid of the walkers down by the fence," the elderly gentleman replied. Daryl felt pleased – he'd been intending to round up Glenn himself to do that very task, but he was glad that he didn't need to voice the need for the obvious task.

"And Oscar and Adair went to go move more supplies from the cafeteria over here," he said. "They took one of the cells at the back of the cellblock and turned it into a pantry. Now they're filling it."

"Is that a good idea?" Daryl demanded. He didn't like the idea of her limping around when there were still walkers wandering around. She wasn't nearly as nimble as she'd been before, with her injury combined with not being at full strength.

Hershel held up a hand. "I asked her not to, but she insisted she was up to par." He gestured to his stump. "Not like I could actually physically restrain her. Besides, she's got Oscar with her. They'll be fine."

Daryl nodded reluctantly as a giant yawn almost took his jaw off its hinges. Hershel eyed him.

"You know, son," he began. "I know that you have taken on being the leader of our group ad interim, and I commend you for that. But you've been running yourself ragged. You need to take some rest." He gestured into the cellblock. "We've got things under control, for the moment. Allow yourself some time to sleep."

"Yes," Carol chimed in, looking up from her work. Her needle poised between her fingers as she regarded him sternly. "Hershel is right, Daryl. You need to rest. You're no good to us if you're not taking care of yourself."

He glanced into C-block. "Maybe for a little while," he muttered.

"Yes," Hershel said firmly. "G'on, now."

Daryl climbed the steps to the perch and lay down. Before he knew it, sleep had claimed him. It was a heavy, deep slumber, dark and warm, dreamless. He awoke some time later, feeling something hitting his foot. He jerked to a sitting position, blinking up at the figure before him.

Adair stood over him, nudging his foot with the toe of her boot. She was smiling. _Aw, man_, he thought, sincerely hoping he hadn't been drooling or worse, snoring.

"Y'know," she began in a teasing tone. "I seem to recall bein' harassed not too long ago by some jackass who insisted I take up a hobby 'cause all he ever saw me do was sleep."

Daryl snorted, noticing a fresh water bottle on the ground beside him. "Thanks." He grabbed it and rose to his feet, taking a long drink as he looked down at her. "Well," he said finally. "This jackass has been runnin' on almost no sleep tryin' to hold shit together and, y'know, rescue folks and whatnot." He gave her pointed look in return, tempering his words with a half-smile. "How long was I out?"

"'Bout two hours," she replied. He was surprised; he'd felt like he's just closed his eyes when she'd woken him. "Carol and Hershel appointed me the head of the 'Let's Make Sure Daryl Dixon Takes Care of Himself' committee and my first order of business is comin' to fetch you for a late lunch." She turned to go down the stairs and he followed her. In the commons area, he saw a lone bowl of soup and a pile of crackers.

"Aren't you eatin'?" he asked. "Where's everybody else?"

"Already ate," she said. "Oscar is outside checking the fences. Glenn and Maggie ate, then left for their run, to get bullets and formula." She paused, chuckling. "Babies and guns…kind of a weird combination, but whatever works."

Before Daryl could sit, he heard the cellblock door that led into the hallways creak open. He and Adair both whirled around, and saw Rick emerge. He looked a little bit better than he had the day before, Daryl noted. He still looked haunted, but his eyes were sharp and focused.

"Hi, Rick," Adair said with a smile.

Rick stared at her for a moment, having been under the impression that she had died. He stepped toward her, his eyes wide, and reached out to embrace her.

Adair's face registered the mild surprise that Daryl felt, but it was also heartwarming. She returned the hug. Daryl appreciated the fact that she didn't tell Rick, "I'm so sorry about Lori" or anything similar – he knew Rick, and even though the words would be meant kindly, it wasn't what Rick needed to hear at the moment. He folded his arms over his chest, half-smiling at the tender moment between them.

"Have you met your daughter?" Adair asked him gently when she pulled back.

Rick shook his head. "No. I've decided I've been selfish long enough…and I need to hold my baby."

Adair smiled at him, patting his shoulder. "You have been anything but selfish, Rick," she said. "Let me get Hershel and Carol and the baby. Be right back." She limped off toward C-block.

Daryl turned back to Rick. "How are you, man?" he asked.

Rick nodded. "I'll be ok," he said. He jerked his head after Adair. "How—?"

Daryl shrugged slightly. "We were clearing part of the lower levels yesterday. She got chased into a storage closet, got hurt. Lost a lot of blood. She musta heard us down there, she kept kicking the door, trying to get our attention. We thought she was a walker. I found her in there later, brought her back. Hershel and Beth's been tendin' to her. She's gonna be ok."

Rick nodded, reaching out to grasp Daryl's shoulder. "I'm glad you found her," he said. "So glad that we didn't lose anyone else. And I'm glad for you," he added, his tone softer.

Daryl picked up on his meaning and shifted uncomfortably, nodding his appreciation for the words of praise.

A moment later, Adair limped back into the cell, followed by Hershel, and Carol, carrying the baby. She had tears in her eyes. Hershel balanced on his crutches and extended a hand to Rick, who took it and clasped it firmly. The two men shared a meaningful look, Rick nodding slightly. He turned to Carol, who threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight. When she pulled away, Rick's eyes were glued to the tiny baby girl in her arms, and she held her out slightly. He reached for her, gingerly taking her into his arms.

"It's been a while since you've held one of those, huh?" Adair joked lightly, grinning. Hershel and Carol chuckled. Daryl did a double-take, seeing her eyes glisten with tears at the first moment between father and daughter.

Rick half-smiled at her words, lifting the baby up gently so she was eye-level. Daryl noted the look of wonder, amazement, and pure love and rapture in his eyes as he beheld his daughter. She waved her tiny arms and cooed, locking eyes with the man who was her father, her big bright eyes studying him intently.

"Have a seat," Hershel instructed. "Take a load off. Spend some time with your daughter."

Rick barely heard him as Carol led him to a stray chair. He sat down, his eyes never leaving the baby's. He cradled her carefully in his arms, holding her close to his chest.

For a moment, Daryl thought about what it would be like to have a baby of his own, have a daughter that he'd created with his wife, if such a thing would ever exist again. He wondered what it would be like to experience that level of unadulterated love for something that had his blood, his flesh; that was created from an act of love.

He wondered if there was ever a time when his own father had ever held him like that, or even his mother, for that matter. He knew enough about his life to be under no illusions as to whether or not he'd come from an act of love. He was most likely an accident, the result of a night of drunken horniness.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Adair's cool hand on his arm. He turned, meeting her eyes. He suddenly pictured a tiny infant girl, the same size as the one Rick now held, with wide gray eyes and a teeny dimple in her cheek, which he could see because he was holding her and making her laugh. Because she was his.

_Whoa, dial it back, Dixon_, he told himself sternly, shaking his head incredulously.

"I'm gonna take watch for a few hours," Adair told him, glancing over her shoulder at Rick, smiling.

"You'll be ok?" he asked gruffly.

She gave him a cocky smile. "Of course."

"Well, just thought I'd ask, since I'd be amazed if you could even gimp your way upstairs without hitting your head on something or tripping and falling…"

She snorted and pushed his chest lightly. "Hey, I may be accident-prone, but I get the job done!" she insisted. "I don't guess you'll be sittin' still this afternoon?"

He shook his head. "Might see if Rick wants to help me clear some more of the lower levels," he said. He glanced at the enamored father. "No hurry," he rushed to add.

Adair smiled at him knowingly before giving him a light push toward the table. "Well, sit down and eat already, for cryin' out loud. Your lunch is getting cold."

"First of all, you best stop bossin' me, woman. You're mighty bossy."

"Ok, fine. _Please _sit your ass down and eat your lunch. And second of all?"

"And second of all," Daryl said, lowering himself to the table. "You best stop manhandlin' me. I ain't no punk."

She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned and limped for the door that led outside. When she reached it, she turned, glancing at him over her shoulder. He paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He lifted his eyebrows in question.

"See," she said softly, flashing him her dimple. "I _can_ say please."

He stared at her, warmth rushing through him at her words. She winked at him and turned, heading through the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note - Another mostly fluffy chapter! Thank you guys very much for continuing to read and support this story :-) Every time I see I have new followers and favorites, it makes me all warm inside :-) Also, thank you for your reviews and PMs. Did I tell you how much I love to see them?**

**Homie shout-out!**

**PickurePoison - Thank you thank you thank you for your review :-) I already replied to it and then spent the day at work PM'ing you teehee :-) FUN TIMES! Let me know what you think of this one. **

**MadeInIreland - My lovely jubbly! :-) I wondered if the baby thing would be a BIT much, but then I thought, it's a fluff chapter so FUCK IT! And, she didn't really FORGET...she's just a little unsure herself :-)**

**piratejessieswaby - I know :-( But...since I'm following the show's canon plot...brace yourself my dear :-(**

**Lorem Tenebrae - KYAAAAH! I LOVE IT! :-) I love the squealers, or didn't you know? :-D OF COURSE she 'membered! **

**NoirChick - Another squealer! Hooray! Love it :-) Yes I love the Mazzy Star, that song in particular. It was perfect for that scene :-D I reveled in writing the fluffy chapter. We need a little fluff once in a while!**

**FanFicGirl10 - Precisely! She just wasn't really sure how to approach it, if she SHOULD approach it being that Daryl can be sort of prickly sometimes! Hoo-wee, a baby for real in the future? Well, they have to have sex for that to happen ;-)**

**Leyshla Gisel - YES! FEELING OF WARMTH FOR THE WIN! :-D**

**loveorpain - DING DING DING! You are right on the money! Give that woman the prize! :-)**

**Recommended soundtrack: Drive by Incubus; Crawling by Linkin Park; Post Modern Sleaze by Sneaker Pimps**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 15**

Adair leaned against the railing, enjoying the late afternoon sun. The roof of the guard tower offered her just enough shade to stand comfortably outside. A soft breeze blew toward her, lifting her long ebony strands lightly.

She hugged herself tightly, her heart still thumping from the exchange in the commons. She hadn't known how to approach Daryl about the other night. She felt like she had forced him into kissing her, since she had used her failing voice to, well, trick him. She hadn't been _quite_ as hoarse as she'd made it seem, but she also wasn't brave enough to simply ask him outright. She remembered how shaken he'd been when he'd found her, how relieved she'd been to the point of tears when he'd not killed her and come and scooped her up in his arms instead. In fact, she was pretty sure he'd kissed her forehead at one point.

The Cherokee rose he'd brought her had sealed the deal for her. Any man who would repeatedly save her life, sometimes at the risk of his own, and then do something so thoughtful for her was worth pursuing and keeping. That realization, coupled with spending hours on hours on hours wondering if she'd never see him again, if their last exchange would forever be the angry one they'd had before the herd had come through, had sent her over edge. While lying in bed, recuperating, she'd decided she liked that Daryl Dixon. A lot. In a way that she hadn't liked anybody in a very long time, even before the world had ended.

The door behind her opened suddenly, and she cursed herself for not paying attention as she whirled toward it. As if her mind had manifested him, Daryl stood in the doorway, staring at her through narrowing blue eyes.

Her mouth opened to speak, but she had no idea what to say. He looked so intense – almost angry. Had she done something to make him mad? Adair took an instinctive step backward, the railing digging painfully into her side.

"Daryl," she hedged. He was scaring her with his burning intensity. "What's –"

Crossing the tower balcony in three long strides, he was suddenly at her side. He grabbed her, startling her, as he roughly pulled her to him. In one fluid motion whirled her around so that her back slammed up against the exterior of the guard house. She tried to form words, but they died in her mouth as he hungrily attacked her lips with his own, one hand digging into her long, silky fine black hair and tugging, the other hand pressing against the wall by her head, blocking her in. He pressed his body tight against hers, and she clawed at his shirt, fumbling, not to push him away but to bring him closer. Her foot left the floor to wrap around his leg, pulling him closer still as she eagerly wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other clutching the lapel of his shirt.

His lips were hungry, rushed, capturing hers like they might get away from him. She could hardly keep up with him, so intense were his kisses. Her head slammed painfully up against the side of tiny building; she acknowledged the pain but ignored it, frantically returning his kisses, her hand releasing his shirt only to find its way to the top of his head, gripping the hair at his crown and pulling him closer.

His tongue slid along her bottom lip and she quickly opened her mouth, wanting it, gasping when she felt his tongue slide against hers in an impossibly deep kiss. She stroked her tongue against his, teasing it, drawing it further into her mouth so she could wrap her lips around it and suck. Their kisses were slowing down now, but building even higher in intensity. He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue before his lips closed around it. He shuddered when she nipped his bottom lip, then opened his mouth for her to receive her probing tongue.

The hand he'd been pressing against the wall slid down to her hip, grabbing it and squeezing hard for a moment before sliding under her thigh to encourage the leg that was wrapped around him. He pressed pelvis into hers, and she involuntarily grunted when she felt the hard bulge between his legs grind against her. She gasped, throwing her head back into the wall and her teeth sunk into her lower lip when he moved his mouth to her throat, finding the scar she'd showed him that first night, following it along her jaw and down her throat as his hand traveled from her thigh under her shirt, finding the smooth skin of her abdomen. His other hand stayed firmly in her hair.

Adair's eyes opened to a gray slit, her mouth parted slightly in a silent _O_ when his tongue flickered along her scar. Her skin tingled and burned with sensitivity and pleasure as his tongue slipped back down her throat.

Movement from the field, over his shoulder, caught her attention. A grouping of walkers were stumbling toward the fence. Her eyes lazily followed the movement out of habit, instinct, mostly closing when his lips returned to hers. She was momentarily distracted when his tongue slipped between her lips again, finding hers. Her eyes flew back to the field when she saw a splash of bright red color and widened. Was that a walker holding…a plastic _grocery store_ basket?

She pulled her lips from Daryl reluctantly. "Daryl," she whispered urgently, tugging on the front of his shirt. Her eyes went back to the figure. It was bloody, staggering, clutching the fence next to the other walkers, who paid it no mind. _Has to be a walker. But…the basket?_ She looked back up at Daryl.

He was breathing heavily, his blue eyes smoldering as he stared down into her face, his eyes locking onto her moist, swollen lips. "Bring those back," he murmured.

Despite her concern over the figure at the fence with the basket, she couldn't find the strength to push him away when he lowered his face back to hers, his lips first lingering at the dimple in her cheek before moving to her mouth, immediately finding her bottom lip and closing around it. Adair lost herself for a moment in his lips and tongue before finally pulling gently from his lips with a little _smack_.

She stepped around him, tugging on his arm, noting his expression of disappointed annoyance. "Look," she said, pointing.

He shrugged. "They ain't gettin' in," he said, squinting in the late afternoon sun. "I guess we can –" He trailed off, noting the walker holding the basket. "That's a new one," he murmured.

Adair disappeared into the little building, returning quickly with a pair of binoculars. She stepped up to the railing, bringing the binocs to her eyes and adjusting them. She focused on the walker with the basket. An African-American woman, with deep mahogany skin, covered in blood, staggering unsteadily on her feet. Her hand clutched the red basket filled with cans of some sort – Adair couldn't make out the label. She gasped when she saw the woman's eyes, dark irises surrounded by bright white, shifted upward in her direction, staring with a mixture of intense fear and need.

She lowered the binoculars, rushing back into the room to drop them on the table and scoop up the walkie talkie that would radio in to the one she knew was on a table in the commons.

"We got company!" she shouted into the walkie talkie, then turned to Daryl, eyes wide. "That's not a walker!" she exclaimed, yanking open the door for the stairwell.

She limped down the stairs as fast as she could, Daryl sliding past her, one hand carefully on her back to ensure she didn't fall, to thunder down the stairs in front of her quickly. When they hit the ground, he pushed the door open and they burst out, meeting up with Rick, still holding the baby, followed by Carol, Hershel, Beth, Carl, Oscar and Axel.

"Daryl!" Rick called, unsheathing his knife and gun after handing the baby carefully back to Carol. Daryl nodded, jogging after him. Adair limped after them as fast as she could, not really feeling her ankle but instinctively not wanting to put her full weight on it.

"Adair," Daryl hissed, peeved, seeing her behind them.

"Hush," she whispered back, her eyes locked on the fence. She stepped up beside Rick, her hand loosely curled around her Glock.

The walkers were in a frenzy now, smelling the hot, live flesh before them. They curled their rotting fingers around the chain links in the fence, growling, wheezing, as they gnashed their rotted teeth.

Up close, Adair could see the woman was certainly no walker. She was covered in gore, but Adair could see the wound in her thigh. She hoped it wasn't a bite. The woman locked eyes with Adair, then Rick, her hand reaching up to grasp the fence.

Adair looked up at Rick imploringly, wondering if he was going to say anything, when she noticed the walkers slowly turning toward the woman, as though they were starting to notice that she wasn't one of them, after all.

The woman seemed to know she'd been discovered, and dropped the basket. Adair could see now that it held half a dozen cans of baby formula. She watched, dumbstruck, as the woman pulled a sleek white katana from her back, and began slashing at the walkers closest to her with skill. She staggered slightly, clutching her wounded thigh, her eyes clouding momentarily as if she were dizzy.

Adair took another limping step toward the fence, gasping when she saw the woman go down. In an instant Daryl was at her side, as Rick began to step toward the fence opening, reaching for the lock.

Without thinking, Adair brought up her gun, wrapping her left hand around the front of her right, taking careful aim at the walker that was now crouching down over the woman, grasping at the front of her leather vest to haul her up closer to its drooling mouth.

Adair squeezed the trigger, the bullet making the walker's head snap back. She immediately shifted her aim to the head of another walker closing in, blowing its head apart.

She heard a gun exploding beside her. She glanced over, seeing Daryl had taken his out and had joined her, shooting the nearest walkers.

"Daryl!" Rick said, pushing the gate open. "You get the formula, I've got her! Adair – cover us!"

The two men ducked into the field. Adair lined up her next shot, waiting until the two men were clear, sending the bullet through the walker's temple.

Daryl scooped up the basket while Rick hooked his arms under the unconscious woman's armpits, dragging her backward.

"Carl!" Adair called. The boy ran forward, his own pistol drawn, to clutch the edge of the fence. Daryl dropped the basket behind the gate, then rushed forward to grab the woman's feet, helping Rick get her through the gate.

Adair took one last shot as Carl closed the gate and locked it up.

"Is she bit?" Hershel asked.

Rick looked over her wound. "Gun shot." He grunted as he lifted the woman in his arms. He turned toward the prison, walking as rapidly as he could manage, balancing the unconscious stranger. Adair quickly limped after the group, slamming the door shut behind her as she entered.

"Carl, get a blanket," Rick called as he helped the woman down the stairs. "Beth, water and a towel. She's not comin' in the cellblock."

He laid her on the ground in the commons area, on the blanket Carl had laid down. He turned to take the towel and bottle of water that Beth held out to him. The woman was starting to come around and he poured a bit of the cool water over her throat and chest.

"It's all right," he said. "Steady, now. Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me." His voice was low and soothing, his "cop voice", as Adair had named it. "Who are you?"

The woman glared up at him suspiciously. Adair could tell that it was out of fear for her own safety that made her look like that, not that she meant them any harm, necessarily.

The woman spied her katana on the ground next to Rick's foot and suddenly wrenched toward it violently. Rick deftly kicked it out of reach.

"We're not gonna hurt you," he said in the same low, even tone. "Not unless you try somethin' stupid first."

The woman continued to writhe in his arms, glaring around at them from the floor. She turned her glare fiercely on Adair, when she bent down very slowly and picked up the woman's katana.

"Don't you touch that!" she hissed, jerking. Rick had an iron grip on her arm and was crouched over her, so her flail toward Adair was in vain.

"I ain't gonna do nothin' with your katana, miss," Adair responded quietly, mimicing Rick's tone, "but hand it to this here gentleman so you don't try to kill me. As Rick said, we ain't gonna hurt you."

Adair held a hand out to the woman, slowly handing Daryl the katana. She showed the woman her palm, then used that same hand to touch Rick's arm.

"Rick, let her go," she said in a low voice. "Why don't you give the lady a little breathin' room."

Rick looked at her like she'd lost her mind, the woman on the ground also momentarily distracted with confusion at Adair's request.

Adair nodded at Rick, who glanced at Daryl. Daryl was within enough of Adair's peripheral for her to see him shake his head.

"Rick, please," Adair repeated. "Never box a lady in. You may not like the results."

Rick stared at her doubtfully a moment longer, before very slowly easing his grip on the woman and backing off of her.

Adair held her breath as the woman struggled to sit up slightly. _Please don't do nothin' stupid,_ she silently pleaded, meeting the woman's gaze directly. _We're tryin' to help you._

"My name's Adair," she said in a low voice, easing herself down into a sitting position on the floor across from the woman. "And please, let me apologize for you bein' man-handled like that. We aren't gonna hurt you. We ain't them type of people. We are just tryin' to protect our own."

The woman glared at her, saying nothing, but at least she was still. Her dark brown eyes bored into Adair's.

"I'm a newbie to this group," Adair continued, resting her hands on her knees so the woman could see them at all times. "I sorta...happened upon them oh, 'bout a couple weeks ago outside a house I was tryin' to scavenge. Thought better of it when I saw it was full of walkers. They chased me out back around the house, up a tree, and back onto the roof. You believe that? There I was, tryin' to mind my business and get the hell outta there, and these assholes chase me onto the roof." She kept her tone light, her face open but not smiling. She didn't want the woman to feel like she was trying to run an act on her.

"Well, I'm on the roof, and these here folks come through a few minutes later. My conscience gets the best of me, and I help them get out the back of the house. And they took me in after that. Me, a total stranger, meant nothin' to them, but they were kind enough to tote me in their cars, give me food, give me a safe place to sleep." She gestured around the prison. "They gave me a chance. All they wanted in return was to know they could trust me, that I'd never hurt 'em. That's the type of people they are - they're close. A real family. Kind people. Good hearted." She stared into the woman's eyes sincerely, truly speaking from her heart. "Please, you can feel safe here, ma'am. I don't know about you, but I had some time with a real bad group. A group that tried to hurt me." She saw the woman's forehead knit briefly before smoothing back out into her poker face.

"I've never met a group like this before. Genuinely care for each other. Please ma'am, you're hurt." She gestured to the woman's thigh. "Mr. Hershel over there, well, he's got quite a bit of medical expertise. He could patch you right up. And you can have your beautiful sword back too. We don't mean to keep it from you. You understand, we just have to make sure you wouldn't try to hurt us, because we don't want to hurt you. Is that all right, ma'am? If we patch you up and get you your sword back?"

She felt like she'd been talking forever and repeating herself, but the more she talked, the more the woman's face relaxed. She truly meant every word she spoke, and she hoped that the woman could sense that.

Finally, the woman gave her a slight nod. She looked at no one but Adair, and still she said nothing, but the angry suspicion on her face had receded slightly, if not totally disappeared.

"Thank you, ma'am," Adair said, finally allowing a half-smile to cross her face. "Would you like me to stay close by while Mr. Hershel gets you taken care of?"

Another tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

"Ok, then," Adair said, still not moving from the ground. "Do you mind very much if I hold your katana for you?"

A tiny shake of the head.

Adair reached her hand up toward Daryl, who slowly handed her the sword with something like a look of skeptical amazement on his face.

Adair took the sword slowly, keeping her eyes on the woman, and set it across her knees. The woman was only a mere two feet away, but still Adair didn't move. She could see the woman's face twitch as she stared at her sword within reach, could see her mind battling itself if she should or shouldn't.

The woman tore her eyes from the sword back to Adair's gaze, beginning to glare again. Adair kept her face open and serene, dropping her hands away from the sword to lay flat on the ground. It was an open invitation, but also a silent plea not to try anything.

With a great effort, the woman gave Adair another tiny, angry nod, exhaling her breath sharply. Adair returned the nod, keeping her hands on the floor.

Suddenly, the tiny baby in Carol's arm started to mewl quietly. The woman's eyes shot to the tiny bundle, noticing it for the first time.

Rick turned and rose instantly, his eyes going to the small baby girl. "What is it? Is she -"

"Been fed and been changed, probably just wants some lovin'," Carol replied quietly with a small smile. "Wants her daddy."

The intruder momentarily forgotten, Rick took the baby from Carol, smiling into her face with the same look of amazed, pure love that Adair had seen earlier. He kissed his daughter's tiny cheeks, holding her close and cuddling her head under his chin.

Adair snuck a look at the stranger to guage her expression. The woman wore a look of surprise, confusion, and slightly impressed disbelief, taking in the sight of the previously dangerous man nuzzling his infant daughter, Carol smiling, teary-eyed, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Even Daryl couldn't help but grudgingly half-smile. It was undeniably touching to see Rick with his daughter. Even the coldest of hearts would had to have melted, just a little.

The woman swiveled her eyes to Adair, still wearing the same expression. In reply, Adair half-smiled and lifted her brows a little, as if to say,_ I told you. We're different._

Once the baby had quieted down a bit, Rick remembered himself and handed the baby back to Carol. He turned back to Michonne, clearing his throat.

"We can tend to that wound for you," he said. "Give you a little food, water, and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us. And why you were carrying formula."

She stared back at him for a moment, seeming to have come to some inner conclusion. "The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy," she replied, her voice low and soft, with a dangerous edge. "With a pretty girl."

"What happened?" Rick asked.

"Were they attacked?" Hershel asked, a slight tremble to his voice but his face otherwise stoic.

Adair's stomach roiled as she turned back to the woman. Her brow furrowed. "Was it...a herd?" she asked.

"They were taken," the woman replied.

"Taken?" Rick repeated. "By who?"

"By the same son of a bitch that shot me," the woman answered, her voice cool and angry.

Rick leaned down into her face. "Hey," he hissed. "These are our people. You tell us what happened, now!" With that, he leaned over Adair to grab the woman's thigh, digging his thumb into the wound.

She cried out, jumping to her feet as Daryl hefted his crossbow and pointed it at her. Adair scrambled to her feet as well.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" she shouted at Rick. Adair, without thinking, reached a hand out to touch the woman's arm, intending to comfort her. Lightning quick, the woman grabbed Adair's arm, twisting it around her back and yanking her in close, her other arm going around Adair's neck, her forearm pressed to her throat.

"Let her go," Daryl growled. "Or you're gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound!"

"It's ok," Adair choked out to the woman. "It's ok."

Gradually, the woman released her hold on Adair. She glared at Rick and Daryl both, before spitting out, "Find 'em yourself!"

Rick studied her intently, placing a hand on Daryl's crossbow. "Put it down," he whispered to the hunter as he lowered it slowly. Rick circled the woman, as she stumbled around with him, determined that he should not get to her back. "You came here for a reason," he said to her.

"There's a town, Woodbury," she said grudgingly. "About seventy-five survivors. I think they were taken there."

"A whole town?" Rick asked.

"It's run by this guy, calls himself 'the Governor'," the woman answered, and the note of disgust in her voice was unmistakable. "Pretty boy, charmin', Jim Jones type."

"He got muscle?" Daryl asked gruffly.

"Para-military wannabes," she responded. "Armed sentries on every wall."

"You know a way in?" Adair asked.

"Place is secure from walkers but we could slip our way through," she replied.

Rick snorted. "How'd you know how to get here?" he demanded quietly.

"They mentioned a prison," the woman said. "Said which direction it was in, said it was a straight shot."

Rick regarded her a moment longer, then gestured at Hershel. "This is the father of the girl that was taken," he said pointedly. "He'll take care of that." Rick turned and jerked his head at Daryl, indicating he wanted him to follow.

Adair glanced after them, then met the woman's eyes. She didn't move, still holding the woman's katana gently in her arms. "Said I would stay with you," she said softly to the woman, seeing the question in her eyes.

"I'm sorry...for grabbin' you," the woman said grudgingly.

Adair half-smiled. "I can tell apologizin' is one of your most favorite things in this world," she replied, "after knittin' and bakin' pies, I'm sure." She got a half-smirk from the woman, also grudging. "It's fine, ma'am. No hard feelings. I told Rick he should never box a lady in. Anything's liable to happen."

Hershel approached the woman slowly, his medical bag on the table nearby. He lifted a hand briefly from one crutch to indicate he wasn't a threat. "Ma'am, I'm going to take a look at your wound, and I'll be as gentle as possible."

The woman said nothing and didn't move as the elderly gentleman slipped immediately into his doctor mode. He studied her wound, gently touching the area. "Looks like it grazed you pretty deep, but at least we don't have to dig any bullet fragments out. You're going to need stitches, young lady." In his role as healer, the woman was no longer threatening to him. His mission, his goal, was to keep her healthy and alive.

Adair stepped forward to gingerly help the woman lie on her side so that Hershel could stitch her up. He looked at her, frowning.

"Ordinarily, I'd ask that you remove your pants," he said, "so I could access the wound better. But somehow I don't think that's gonna fly with you, even with Miss Adair present."

She stared back at them silently.

"That's what I thought. Oh, well. I'll make do."

Adair watched as he deftly began stitching up the small wound in her leg, much the same way he'd stitched her up just a couple days ago. The woman's breath suddenly began to pick up speed, and Adair knew she was feeling the uncomfortable tug of the thread couple with the stinging of the needle as it went in and out of her skin. Her dark brown eyes sought Adair's once more, and Adair gave the woman a firm nod.

Finally, Hershel finished up his handiwork and rose, placing his crutch beneath his arm. He nodded at the woman.

"Thank you," she said finally. The elderly gentleman looked mildly surprised, but graciously nodded again.

Adair heard voices coming from C-block. She glanced over her shoulder, hearing the voices turn heated. She turned back around to the woman.

"I'll be right back," she said. She turned to go, then stopped, remembering, and turned back to the woman. She very gently set the woman's sword on the table next to her.

She limped toward the door to the cellblock, rapping her knuckles on it to get Carl to come and unlock it for her. She slipped inside.  
"How do we know we can even trust her?" she heard Oscar's deep baritone voice demand.

"Why are we even debatin' this?" young Beth piped up. "This is Maggie and Glenn!"

"We ain't," Daryl said. "I'll go after 'em."

"This place sounds pretty secure," Rick reminded him. "You can't go alone."

"I'll go," Adair said firmly.

"Me too," Axel said stepping forward.

"I'm in," Oscar added quietly.

Rick glanced around at them, a half-smile on his face. He nodded. "We don't need all of you," he replied softly. "Too many in a group will draw too much attention. Beth, Axel, Carol. You stay. Oscar, if you can come, I'd sure appreciate it." He looked at Adair. "You sure you're up for this?"

"I'm fine," she said, gazing back at him evenly, ignoring the glare Daryl shot her.

Rick looked pointedly at her ankle, then back up to her face.

"I said, I'm fine," she said, even softer, in a tone that begged not be questioned further.

Rick lifted his hands, glancing at Daryl as if to say _This is your battle._ Instead, he just said, "All right. Let's get our gear and move out."

:O:O:O:

They decided to take Maggie's small green SUV. Daryl tossed a bag into the trunk.

"I got the flash-bangs, I got the tear gas," he said as Oscar stepped up next to him to add another bag. "You never know what you're gonna need." He swung his leather vest on as Carl stepped forward to load a bag into the trunk. "Hey," he said, drawing the boy's attention. "I'm gonna keep my eye on your old man, don't you worry about him." Carl nodded and half-smiled at him, and Daryl clapped him on the back.

He turned toward the prison, stopping short when he saw Adair huffing and puffing as she limped slightly toward the car, carrying a heavy bag of weapons in each hand. He studied her evenly as he leaned down to relieve her of her burden. She frowned back up at him. _Don't even try_, she told him silently.

Catching her breath, Adair glanced down at her ripped up, loose-fitting shirt. She should probably put on something a bit more form-fitting for ease of movement if they were going to be running a rescue mission. It would truly suck to get tangled up in tree branches because she wore something that wasn't tactical and then become walker bait.

"Be right back," she said to Daryl, touching his arm. "I need to change my shirt then I'm ready to go." She ignored the immediate look of protest that came into his eyes, spinning on her heel and heading up the stairs.

She tested her weight on her ankle as she went. It ached slightly in protest, but for the most part, it was steady. When she reached her cell, she found the bottle of ibuprofen that Beth had left her, taking three with a swig of water. She stripped off her T-shirt, digging through her bag to find a different one, when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I ain't gonna argue with you about this, Daryl," she chided without turning around. "I'm goin'." She found the shirt she wanted, a simple black V-neck tee, and turned around, seeing him frowning at her.

"You ain't goin'," he replied, folding his arms as he watched her struggle into the shirt. She caught the flicker of interest in his eyes, seeing her in her bra.

She sighed heavily, stepping up next to him, patting his chest. "We both know I am," she said gently. "So I really don't see much use in talkin' about it further."

"Adair," he growled. "You have a bad ankle, you've hardly gotten your strength back. We're gonna be worryin' about you keepin' up in addition to lookin' out for danger. Don't do this to me, ok?"

"Daryl, look." She stepped away from him and walked carefully down the landing of the upper cellblock, putting most of her weight on her ankle. Her limp was almost imperceptible. "See? I can walk. I can fight, I have strength, I'm fine."

"No," he said, an air of finality in his voice.

_This is going to require more serious measures,_ Adair thought. She walked back toward him, stepping up close, wrapping her arms around him despite his attempt to pull away. She leaned up on her tiptoes, her ankle groaning slightly in protest and brought her face up, her lips just a breath away from his.

"Stop arguin' with me," she murmured. "Short of tyin' me down, you ain't stoppin' me. I do what I want, when I wanna do it. You should know that by now."

His eyes were locked onto her lips. "Don't think that ain't an option," he muttered back. "Tyin' you down."

"Save that for later," she whispered back, barely brushing her lips against his as she spoke. He made a deep, guttural sound that rumbled in his chest before sliding his hand under her hair, bringing his mouth to hers in a deep, delicious kiss, their tongues sliding together in a sensuous tango.

When she pulled away, he groaned in frustration. "Woman, why do you gotta be so damn stubborn?"

"Why do _you?"_ she retorted, turning away from him to head for the stairs. He caught her by the hand, and she turned back around to face him. This time, his brow was creased with concern.

"Listen," he said. "I don't want you to come with us, but I know can't stop you. Just promise you will stay close to me, in my sight, and don't go off doin' anything stupid that might get you killed. Like you always do," he finished, sounding annoyed.

Even at his grumpy tone, Adair couldn't help melting a little bit at his words. She knew they were pressed for time, but she fell back into his arms anyway.

"I promise," she replied quietly. "But don't get so worried about me that you take your head out of the game. You just stay focused on gettin' Glenn and Maggie back safe. Don't worry about me so much, Daryl – I'm tougher than you think."

"Yeah, right," he said crabbily, but accepted her kiss on his cheek grudgingly. When she turned away toward the stairs, he caught her hand again and she whirled around, her gray eyes wide with impatience.

He bit back a grin, yanking her to him, and kissed her, hard, deep, hungry, his tongue thrusting into her mouth like it owned it. He pulled his face back slightly, pleased at her hooded eyes, her fast breathing, her flushed cheeks, knowing his reactions matched hers.

She fumbled at him, muttering unintelligibly as her eyes stayed glued to his mouth, trying to pull him closer for more. His body ached for it, but his resolve stood firm, and he very gently, reluctantly, disentangled himself from her grasp.

"Save that for later," he murmured, half-smiling at her growl of frustration. He pulled back farther to stare deeply into her eyes, stroking a finger down her cheek before turning to jog down the stairs, Adair on his heels.

She was right – he needed to keep his head in the game on this particular mission. She _could_ take care of herself, injury or no. She was tough, she was a crack-shot, and she was fearless. As long as she stuck close to him, as he'd requested, everything should go fine.

_Fine,_ his mind reiterated firmly. _Still…_

He couldn't figure out why he felt like he was kissing her goodbye.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note - again, thank you all for reading and reviewing. Please please continue to do so! Reviews make me squeeeeeee. You guys definitely want me squee-ing - it makes me update faster :-) and shout out to the reviewin' homies!**

**Pickure Poison - teehee it was sad wasn't it? Poor Daryl! She is definitely not above workin' her jelly when she needs to but it all comes from a place of love :-) she would never be malicious with her feminine wiles! He is very much like a ravenous wolf - he takes what he wants when he wants it (in a non-rapist, non-creepy way of course) if/when he and Adair ever get to gettin' down...poor thing doesn't know what she's in for!**

**leyshla gisel - *fans rapidly* things going well at Woodbury? Well, umm...**

**lorem tenebrae - oh goodie! I'm glad you're with it :-) **

**fanficgirl10 - I know, she ruined the party! ;-) don't worry. The eventual payoff will be worth it :-D**

**piratejessieswaby - *averts eyes* well, um...**

**noirchick - have I ever told you how much I love your reviews? They're always so long and wonderful... I always have to get settled with a good beverage and a treat before I read them :-) yes, Daryl pounced on her. poor unsuspecting Adair. Michonne was sort of a cock blocker huh? And yes, Adair knows just how she feels and she was the only person that could have made that ok. And yes Daryl is being overprotective but he knows Adair is pretty wild and won't do anything she doesn't want to do, like stay behind when two of the team are in trouble. So he had to compromise to get a tiny bit of peace of mind.**

**madeinireland - hey you! Haha in my water? I prefer Scotch :-) made to suffer will likely make you suffer :-( **

**loveorpain - I know! Sweet baby Daryl.**

**Recommended soundtrack: Heart=Shaped Box by Nirvana**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 16**

When the vehicles were loaded up and goodbyes were said, they pulled off.

Adair wasn't sure how long they drove. She lost herself in her thoughts, staring down at her hands.

Rick drove, Michonne in the passenger seat, guiding him. Adair was sandwiched in the back between Daryl and Oscar. She wondered if - when - they brought Glenn and Maggie back, where they would sit. The small vehicle was cramped with the five-passenger limit as it was. She glanced over at Daryl. He had one arm across the backseat so she could lean into him and give Oscar a little more room. His face was tense and taught; apparently he was lost in his thoughts too. He must have felt her watching him; he glanced down at her. His face unchanging, he leaned down and brushed her temple with his lips. She half-smiled up at him and he looked away.

She thought about Glenn and Maggie, wondering if they were all right. Her mind tried to rationalize the situation; if this place was really as Michonne said it was, a real community with people and food and civilization, maybe they were fine. Maybe they were being fed great food, sleeping in beds. Maybe it wasn't really as bad as Michonne made it seem. Maybe she was leading them into a trap.

Adair's eyes wandered to the woman in the front seat, only speaking out directions when necessary. Adair took in her long dreads, her slender form. The dangerous-looking katana propped up next to her. She sensed real danger and intelligence about the woman, but not malice. If anything, she seemed hungry to go back. Adair had no idea what happened to her at Woodbury but it was obvious from the look in her eyes when she spoke about the Governor that she had a seriously big bone to pick with him.

Adair wondered what this place would be like. She could hardly imagine a real functioning community after the past year. She chuckled inwardly at that thought. _Twenty-eight years of normalcy, and that's erased in one year of chaotic bullshit_, she mused.

The sun dipped low in the late afternoon sky. Adair estimated they had probably an hour or less of sunlight left.

"Here," Michonne said. "They have patrols. We're better off on foot."

Adair didn't miss the measured, suspicious look Rick gave her, but he nonetheless stopped the car.

"How far?" he asked in a clipped tone. "Night's comin'."

"A mile," she replied. "Maybe two."

Adair climbed out of the car on Daryl's side, as the trunk was popped. They removed the bags and loaded up as quickly as possible, keeping their eyes peeled for walkers in the forest

_Knife_, Adair thought, her hand finding her sheath on her belt, feeling but not looking. Her hand travelled to the other side. _Other knife_, she thought, feeling the larger blade there. She triple-checked her Glock, making sure the mag was full and she had one in the chamber. There was a full loaded mag in her bra and one more wedged into her left boot. Her right boot held a stiletto blade on one side and a small throwing knife on the other side. In addition, she had one of the AR-15s they kept in the guard tower strapped to her back.

Michonne refused any additional weaponry, her katana strapped to her back. Rick, Oscar and Daryl split up the rest of the weapons and the flash-bangs.

When everyone was strapped up and ready, they formed a tight formation and began picking their way through the forest. Adair kept her promise and stuck close to Daryl's side. He glanced back at her occasionally, giving her a terse nod. She felt fine, having eaten a somewhat stale granola bar and drank down a bottle of water with some more of the sugary orange powder Hershel had given her. Her ankle was wrapped tight, her boot laced as tight around it as possible to make room for the two knives on either side of her ankle. It ached slightly when she put her weight down on it, but the ibuprofen she'd taken earlier helped keep the pain at bay. As it was, she made herself walk with a slight limp. If they ran into trouble, she wanted to baby it now as much as possible until she really needed to put weight on it. She noticed that Michonne walked with a slight limp as well from her freshly stitched wound in the upper thigh.

_Lord_, she groaned inwardly, _please don't let the shit hit the fan for real. Girlfriend and I ain't gonna get far on two good legs between us._

Rick's soft voice cut into the late afternoon stillness as he addressed Daryl.

"I know what you did for me, for my baby, while I was...workin' things out," he said quietly to the hunter. "Thank you."

Daryl shrugged. "It's what we do."

It didn't take long for the walkers to catch onto them, as a handful lurched out from among the trees toward them.

"Down!" Rick hissed, and the group collectively dropped low to the ground. Adair quickly shoved her Glock into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back and snatched out her two knives, one in each hand.

"Formation, no gunfire!" Rick said quietly to the group, before stepping forward and dropping his knife into the skull of the nearest walker.

The group exploded into quiet action. Adair stumbled slightly as she rapidly back-stepped away from an oncoming walker, but used her good leg to support herself as she stabbed it through the eye socket. She felt cold hands grasping at her shoulder and with a grunt, she whirled to face the threat, shoving it backward with her fists, following up with a push-kick, before darting forward and driving her knife into its soft skull as it staggered.

"There's too many of them!" she heard Daryl hiss as she turned. Oscar was pulling a small ax from the head of a walker in the ground. She gulped, seeing hordes of the undead staggering toward them.

Rick spotted an opening through a clearing in the trees. "This way!" he directed.

Adair saw where he was pointing - a small shack in the middle of the clearing. She put her weight down on her bad ankle and ran behind the others, Michonne bringing up the rear.

They ran up the steps of the shack, Rick yanking the door open. When everyone was through, Michonne slammed the door shut.

"Get down, keep it down!" Rick whispered harshly in the darkness of the cabin.

"The smell!" Daryl hissed, exhaling sharply through his nose.

There was a terrible odor of death in the air, Adair noticed, pinching her nose delicately. But it wasn't like the walkers, whose aroma reminded her of the time in college when she'd gone on spring break and accidentally left a bowl of fruit on top of the refrigerator. When she'd come home, there was a sweet, rotting scent in the air, putrid and heavy. This smell was fresher, in the early stages of decay.

As they stepped in further Rick shone his flashlight, finding the source of the pungent odor.

"Must be a fox," Daryl said, looking down at the mangled carcass on the ground. "Or what's left of one."

The walkers arrived at the door just then, slamming on it as their hungry grunts and groans filled the air. Adair wondered just how long the wooden walls and doors would hold against the seething mob outside.

Rick gestured toward a lump under a blanket on a bed along the wall. Everyone stepped closer, knives unsheathed, as Rick yanked the blanket back.

A man leapt up from underneath, shouting in alarm. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. He pointed a rifle at Rick.

"We don't mean any harm!" Rick said, holding his hands open.

"Get out of my house!" the man shouted.

"Ok, ok!" Rick said, his voice still urgent. "We will, but we can't right now!"

"Now!" the man shouted. "Right now!" He swung the rifle around at the group, Adair ducking instinctively as it swept over her, before he retrained it on Rick's face.

"Shut him up!" Michonne hissed angrily as the walkers outside slammed hard against the walls.

"There's walkers outside!" Rick whispered harshly to the man.

That seemed to quiet him down, at least for a moment, his eyes flying to the shuttered windows and the door, hearing the snarls and wheezes from the creatures outside.

Adair adjusted her grasp on her knives, briefly wiping her sweating palms on her pants. "We don't have time for this!" she hissed.

"Ill call the cops!" the man said, still shouting. Adair's hand twitched around her knife. _If he shouts one more time, I will cut his tongue out of his mouth_, she thought brutally.

"I am a cop," Rick replied. "Now, I need you to lower the gun." He sunk to one knee, making a show of laying his large knife on the floor. "Don't do anything rash. Everything's fine. Let's just take this nice and slow." The man lowered his gaze, shaking his head. "Look at me," Rick said quickly, drawing the man's eyes back to him. He held his open palms out to the man, indicating he was no threat.

Instead of playing nicely, the man responded by cocking his rifle. "Show me your badge!" he demanded.

_His badge, really? _Adair thought, annoyed. _Yeah, right._

Rick didn't miss a beat. "My badge," he said, gesturing to himself without lowering his arms, "is in my pocket. Now, I'm just gonna reach down nice and slow."

Adair tensed, knowing Rick didn't have a badge and wondering what he was going to do.

Without breaking the man's gaze, Rick slowly lowered his arms. Then, quick as lightning, he grabbed the barrel of the rifle as the man pulled the trigger in surprise. The blast went through the door as Rick struggled with the man, spinning him around. Rick shouted in pain as the man sunk his teeth into Rick's hand and ran for the front door.

"Ah, help me, help me!" he shouted, his hand closing around the doorknob.

_How does he not see them?_ Adair's mind screamed as she unconsciously took two running steps forward.

"Don't open that door!" Rick shouted.

The man stopped short when Michonne's katana suddenly appeared through the front of his throat. He fell to the ground as she yanked her sword back, scowling.

For a moment, everyone just stood there, staring at her. The hiss of the walkers, growing louder by the second, broke into their haze.

Daryl peeked through the hole in the door. "You remember the Alamo?" he asked Rick wryly.

Rick knelt at the dead man's head, struggling to wedge his hands under his shoulders. Daryl moved to help him get the man upright.

"Help me with the door," he said.

"You gotta be kidding me!" Oscar said, scrunching up his face in dismay.

"Check the back!" Rick called.

Adair scurried to the back of the cabin, cracking open the door.

"Clear," she called back.

"One, two, three," she heard Rick count, and Michonne wrenched open the front door, as Daryl and Rick shoved the man's body into the frenzied mob at the door. Michonne slammed it shut.

The group ran through the cabin to the back door, outside into the clearing. They made their way past the group at the front, tearing eagerly into the man. None of the walkers noticed or heard them, intent on getting at the still-warm and recently-alive flesh.

They pushed into the woods. Daryl glanced back at Adair, relieved to see her just behind and to the right of him. "Ok?" he asked her briefly. She nodded.

Night fell as they pushed on through the forest. Eventually Michonne led them past a set of traintracks. They followed along the tracks until they eventually reached a couple of train cars flanked by a thick copse of trees.

She waved the group on after stepping around the trees to peer at something. They hustled up next to her, and over the hood of a stray car, Adair saw a huge barricaded entrance, two giant wooden doors, flanked by wooden fences on either side. On top of the fences were several huge thick tires, like the kind that would go on eighteen-wheelers. Atop these were a few armed sentries, just as she'd said. One of the sentries operated a huge floodlight on a swivel, dutifully scanning the area before him.

_How are we getting past_ that? she wondered.

Beyond the entrance gate, she saw the soft glow of a street lamp illuminating the front of a building. Woodbury's Coffee, it said. her eyes scanned the rest of the scene, itching to see what lay beyond it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note - Ok y'all. We're getting close to break time, sadly :-( I broke these next two chapters up instead of just one big chapter. Grr! Curse these winter breaks :-(**

**Shout out to the homie time! **

**Lorem Tenebrae - very intense! As I revisited the last two episodes I kept clenching my fists unconsciously haha. Wanted to get in there and kick some ass!**

**piratejessieswaby - She IS a badass! Can't wait to showcase more of it soon :-)**

**Pickure Poison - shat has hit the fan! I'm actually really hoping I can find a way to introduce Adair and the Governor at some point. That's gonna be epic. I hope, anyway :-) You will have to see what I make her do! She's like my little Sim...**

**Leyshla Gisel - DUN DUN DUN! Hold onto your asses. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. And such. :-)**

**FanFicGirl10 - *gulps* avert your eyes! Avert your eyes! :-D**

**NoirChick - yes she is! That is one reason I really like her - it takes a lot to get to her. BUT she is fantastic when she does let a little emotion show. For instance, I was really surprised at her scene with Penny before she realized she was a walker. She has a heart after all :-) Don't you worry about that ankle - it could be broken and she would crawl her ass through Woodbury to complete the mission! Sadly something else does happen to her though eeek. You know, I WISH I could take credit for the Jim Jones reference but that is lifted directly from the show. Like you, I thought that was a SPOT ON comparison and yes, I probably saw the same documentary as you about that man and WOW...I hope he's burning in hell as we speak. But yes, David Morrissey is SO great at The Gov...and I can't wait until he and Adair get a chance to meet :-) **

**Recommended soundtrack: Run This Town by Jay-Z, Rihanna, and Kanye**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 17**

They huddled by the vehicle for some time, gauging their options for entry. Crouched behind Rick, Adair glanced from the entrance to his back, wondering what he would decide. It didn't take a military strategist to see that trying to enter from the front would be something like suicide. There were only two sentries atop the barricade, but they were armed and had the advantage, not to mention high powered automatic rifles.

_Speaking of..._

Adair had sheathed her knives once they reached the car. Her hands now rested on her AR-15, the strap over her shoulder. It was a relatively light piece of weaponry, with hardly any recoil. From here, she knew she could pick off the sentries easily, but the noise it would make and the attention it would draw, from human and undead alike, left something to be desired.

_Still…_

"Should we just...take them out?" she asked in a barely audible whisper. She was surprised at herself; lately she'd been less and less concerned with the preservation of human life, outside the group she was now with. She recalled a time in her life when she couldn't even stand to watch the news, with all the reports of human on human violence. If the situation wasn't so tense, she would have laughed at how capriciously she was discussing ending another person's life.

_Kill or be killed, sweetheart._

Rick glanced at her over his shoulder, his mouth opened to speak, when a rustling noise met their ears.

Michonne had risen from her crouched position, and turned to leave.

"Hey!" Rick whispered harshly, but the woman disappeared around the copse of trees and bushes, out of sight.

Instinctively, Adair started to rise to go after her when she felt Daryl's hand fall heavily on her shoulder, pressing her back down. She whirled to look at him, frowning, and he returned her scowl, shaking his head once, his hand tightening on her.

"Dammit," Rick hissed. He backed up slightly behind the car. "All right, we need to downsize," he whispered, looking at the extra weapons and bags they carried.

"Ain't no way we're gonna be checkin' in all them buildings," Daryl said gruffly. "Not with them armed guards there."

A faint rustling noise behind them caught their attention, and simultaneously, the remaining four swung their weapons around, pointing them at a shadowy figure.

It was Michonne, looking irritated at the weapons pointed at her. Adair automatically lowered hers, but no one else did. She wasn't sure why she intrinsically trusted the woman. She supposed it stemmed from the same place that had instinctively trusted Oscar and Axel.

Michonne mouthed "this way" and gestured over her shoulder at the direction she'd disappeared off to moments before.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a terse nod. "All right, let's go," Rick whispered.

They took off after her back around the way they had come until she took a sharp right turn into the thick trees and bushes. She had led them to the back side of the community, to an innocuous brick building.

They crawled in through a mostly wooden-barred door, breaking a few slats at the bottom to squeeze through. All Adair could make out was that it was some sort of building, but it certainly wasn't abandoned, she thought, tripping over a metal table in the darkness, banging her hip on the edge painfully. It made an awful clattering noise and she scrambled to grab it, stilling and silencing it.

Everyone held their breath for a moment. When nothing happened, Adair sighed in relief.

"Klutz," Daryl whispered in her ear, causing her to jump and rattle the table again. She hadn't realized he was behind her. His hand gripped her waist tightly for a moment before releasing her, his hand lingering on her for just a moment before he stepped away.

"Sorry, everyone," she whispered.

"This is where you were held?" Rick asked quietly.

"I was _questioned_," Michonne corrected, her tone sarcastic.

"Any idea where else they could be?" Rick asked.

Daryl slipped around another table to make his way to a curtained window. There was a glow as if from a fire that illuminated the window. Adair joined him as he pulled the curtain back slightly. She saw a quiet street, lined with mini-fire pits. It was mostly empty but there were a couple people strolling down the sidewalk. It looked...idyllic.

"Thought you said there was a curfew," Daryl said to Michonne, an edge in his voice.

"The street is packed during the day," she shot back. "Those are stragglers."

"Anyone comes in here, we're sitting ducks," Adair remarked. "We gotta move."

"They could be in his apartment," Michonne said.

"Yeah, and if they ain't?" Daryl replied, now an unmistakable note of anger in his voice. Adair rested a restraining hand on his forearm, frowning at him.

"Then we'll look somewhere else," Michonne said, glaring at him.

"You said you could help us," Rick said, his tone matching Daryl's.

She turned her glare on him. "I'm doin' what I can!" she insisted.

"Then where the hell are they?" Oscar chimed in from behind her.

Adair realized the men had boxed her in, the realization also apparently dawning in the woman's eyes as she glanced around.

Adair stepped forward, placing one hand on Daryl's shoulder and the other on Oscar's chest, pushing against them both lightly.

"Remember what I told y'all about closin' in on a lady," she reminded them quietly. "Now, Michonne was only here for a couple days and her access was limited. This place seems pretty damn big - Glenn and Maggie could be anywhere. Let's all just calm down a little bit and think. Startin' a fight among ourselves is the surest way to make sure everyone dies. Ok?"

She pushed gently at Daryl's shoulder. He looked down at her and sighed, pushing past both women as he headed for the back door. Adair glanced up at Oscar imploringly, also pushing gently against him, and finally he nodded, stepping back.

Michonne met her eyes; something like brief, grudging appreciation flashed in them.

Adair heard the men murmuring behind her. She wasn't sure what exactly was being said. She caught Rick saying "cut her loose" and assumed he was talking about Michonne.

"Right now it's the blind leadin' the blind," she heard Daryl mutter. "Let's split up."

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Adair froze.

"Hide!" Rick commanded in a whisper. Adair felt a tugging on her arm and turned, seeing Michonne gesturing to a hiding spot behind them. She followed the woman quickly, just as the door opened and an older, scruffy man in a ball cap stepped inside, shutting the door.

"I know ya in here," he called, taking a few steps further in. "I saw ya movin' from outside. All right now, you're not supposed to be in here, you know it." He waked further in. "Who's in here?"

Suddenly Rick and Daryl burst out from an off-shoot in the room, Rick grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and shoving his gun in his face.

"Shut up, get on your knees!" Rick commanded harshly. He glanced up at Daryl. "Zip-tie him." He pointed the gun at the man's nose. "Where are our people?"

"I don't know," the man insisted, frightened.

"You are holding some of our people, where the hell are they?" Rick demanded angrily.

"I don't know!" the man insisted again.

"Open your mouth," Rick said, and shoved a rag into the man's mouth. Daryl brought his crossbow down against the man's skull, knocking him out cold. They dragged his body back and hid it under a table in the room before heading back to the front door.

Suddenly, the sound of automatic gunfire pierced the night air, quickly followed by shouts from the streets.

Adair stepped deftly to the window and pulled back a tiny bit of the curtain, seeing people running down the sidewalk and shouting.

She looked at Rick, standing by door with his hand on the knob, watching her intently, waiting for a signal. She nodded.

He cracked the door open slightly, keeping his back to the other door, and peered cautiously outside. The coast seemed clear; the streets were empty. As Adair slipped out behind Daryl, she thought that the people she'd seen running down the street had either followed the gunfire like they were about to, or they had run for their homes.

They hit the streets, following the noise. They entered another seemingly abandoned building, following its dim halls deeper and deeper inside.

Rick peered around a corner and stopped short. Adair assumed he must have spotted people. When it was clear, he nodded at them and they continued around the corner, dropping low when the sound of a muffled voice met their ears.

Daryl rose up slightly to peer through a dirty window above them. He hissed sharply when he saw two hooded figures being forced to their feet.

"On your feet!" a rough voice shouted on the other side of the wall. "Let's go. Move!"

Daryl rifled through one of the bags that Oscar had carried, coming up with a couple flash-bangs. Without waiting to be invited, Adair snatched one from his hand and rose to her feet. She gestured sharply for them to move back into the hall they had just come from. She yanked the pin from the small canister and chucked it around the wall, sidling backward to join the rest of the group.

It flashed and exploded, and she heard several thumps as bodies hit the floor, likely ducking for cover from an unseen assault.

Then the gas hit, flowing from the canister in a thickly opaque cloud, and the group rushed back in, hearing shouts and moans of protest. On the other side of the cloud, Adair saw the two hooded figures. She rushed forward to grab Maggie as Rick grabbed a shirtless Glenn, pulling them away in the confusion.

Seeing them, the other people in the room opened fire. Adair ducked, making Maggie duck with her, and Daryl returned fire as they made their exit.

Once outside, they huddled at the entrance to the building, seeing a group of people further down the street start to run off in their direction. They all fell back against the wall briefly as they passed.

"I got it, I'm good," Maggie said to Adair quietly, and Adair nodded and withdrew her arm from around the girl's waist. She did seem to be physically ok. Glen was a different story, she noted, taking in his swollen, bloody face. He walked with a limp, one arm grasping painfully at his side.

They waited for the group to pass them, then took off across the street as rapidly as possible, turning into the first building they encountered. They broke open the door and stumbled inside.

"Rick, how did you find us?" Maggie exclaimed. She dropped to her knees next to her injured boyfriend. "Where's that woman?"

Rick whirled his head around. Adair noticed that Michonne was not among them, although she'd run with them across the street.

"She was right behind us," Rick muttered, stepping to the door. He pulled it open, peering out into the street. There were more people outside now, shouting and running frantically.

"Maybe she's a spy," Oscar growled.

"Want me to look for her?" Daryl asked.

"No," Rick said. "We gotta get them outta here. She's on her own."

None of that sat well with Adair. On the one hand, she was pretty sure the woman had an agenda for coming back to Woodbury other than to help them. She didn't think it was to be duplicitous, though. She didn't want the woman to run into any harm. On the other hand, if the woman was selling them out, that was also a problem. _She has to be found, one way or the other,_Adair thought.

"Daryl," Glenn croaked, drawing everyone's attention. The hunter whipped his head toward the young man, who was being covered with a shirt by Maggie. "This was Merle."

Daryl's face looked angry and shocked. "You saw him?"

"Face to face. He threw a walker at me."

Adair grimaced. She assumed Glenn had been bound by the duct tape still on his wrists. She couldn't imagine too many more things worse than being tied up and having a walker being sic'd on her.

"He was gonna execute us," Glenn finished.

Daryl stepped up next to him. "My brother's this 'Governor'?" he asked incredulously.

"No, he's somebody else," Maggie replied. "Your brother is his lieutenant or somethin'."

"He know I'm still with you?" Daryl asked in that same incredulous tone. Adair felt sympathy rush through her for him. He sounded like a hurt, confused little boy, and she couldn't blame him. He'd been thinking his brother was dead for so long, and now he was finding out that not only was his brother alive, but an evil bastard, to boot.

"He does now," Glenn said ruefully. "Rick, I'm sorry, we told him where the prison was. We couldn't hold out."

_Oh, fuck_, Adair thought, her stomach roiling.

Rick crouched down in front of him, reaching out to grab his shoulder. "Don't. No need to apologize." He quickly patted Glenn's foot then stepped quickly to the window, hearing loud shouts from outside.

"They're gonna be lookin' for us," Maggie said, a note of panic in her voice.

Rick looked back at them and nodded. "We have to get back. Can you walk?" he asked Glenn. "We got a car a few miles down."

Glenn's face contorted with pain but he nodded. "I'm good," he grunted as Rick and Maggie hauled him to his feet.

"Hey, if Merle's alive, I-I need to see him!" Daryl exclaimed, stepping up to Rick.

Rick turned on the younger man, seeing the look of anxious desperation on his face. "Not now," he said in a low voice. "We're in hostile territory!"

Daryl frowned. "He's my brother, he ain't gonna try -"

"Look what he did!" Rick hissed, pointing at Glenn. "We gotta get out of here now!"

"Maybe I can talk to him, maybe I can work somethin' out!"

"No, no, you're not thinkin' straight!" Rick said, placing a hand on Daryl's shoulder. He glanced back at Glenn and Maggie. "No matter what they say, they are hurt. Glenn can barely walk. How are we gonna make it out if we get overrun by walkers or this Governor catches up to us? I need you!" He stared intently into Daryl's eyes. "Are you with me?"

After a moment, Daryl rasped out a tense, "Yeah." Adair could see that it took everything in him to utter that one word and she reached out and briefly squeezed his arm, drawing his eyes. She nodded at him, and he nodded back, moving his arm from under her hand to quickly grab it with his own. He gave it a little squeeze and brought it to his mouth, quickly brushing the knuckles with his lips before dropping it and turning away.

Rick grabbed the bag with the flash-bangs and smoke bombs. He grabbed a handful, giving one to Daryl.

"On three," he said. He quickly counted it off, and on three, Daryl chucked his canister into the street. It landed, exploding into a cloud of smoke. Rick added his and under the veil of smoke, they lifted their weapons and moved out into the street.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note - *sniffles* Well, here it is. The last one for now. *sniffles, dabs eyes* See you guys in February.**

**Recommended soundtrack: What I've Done by Linkin Park**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 18**

They used the shadows cast from the buildings as cover, making their way as silently as possible down the street. For a few moments, they went unseen.

Then things started unraveling, rapidly.

Sentries atop buses, being used as barricades, in the main square area of the community spotted them, opening fire. Adair swung her rifle up, gripping it tight against the kick she knew it had, and fired, Rick joining in. The back of her mind vaguely registered that she was shooting and likely killing human beings.

_They shot first_, she thought grimly. She'd reconcile her actions to herself later. They had no choice.

They moved down the street as quickly as possible. Adair felt bullets pelt the ground near her feet, whiz past her head. She swung around to provide cover from the back, seeing some townspeople amass to open fire from behind them.

They continued forward, Adair sidling backward as she returned fire. She could barely feel her ankle now, so high and heavy was the adrenaline pumping through her.

"Take cover!" Rick bellowed, motioning across the street to a building with a jutting brick corner.

They managed to make it across the street and collapse against the building's wall, reloading and catching their breath.

"How many?" Rick panted.

"I couldn't count," Adair replied breathlessly, accepting another mag from Oscar for her rifle.

Daryl also reloaded his rifle. "Don't matter," he said gruffly. "There's gonna be more of 'em. We gotta move!"

"Any grenades left?" Rick asked. Daryl nodded. "Get 'em ready. We gotta gun it to the wall!"

A sudden burst of automatic gunfire in their direction caused chips of brick to spray over them.

_Too close for comfort_, Adair thought, as she and Maggie simultaneously leaned out to return fire.

"You guys go ahead," Daryl said, handing Rick his reloaded rifle, "I'm gonna lay down some cover fire."

"Like hell!" Adair snapped, turning around to glare at him. "We stay together!"

He stared intensely into her eyes. "I'll be right behind ya," he assured her.

She narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to protest. He grabbed her hand, and shook his head. The words died in her mouth as he stroked a finger down her cheek.

"Right behind ya," he repeated gently. She watched him stand up.

"Ready!" he called, chucking another smoke grenade into the street. He grabbed his rifle, moving out into the smoke, firing.

"Go!" Rick called. They crossed the street at a sideways angle, Daryl dropping to one knee behind a bench and started laying down cover fire.

Halfway across, Rick also dropped to a knee behind a small grid structure, firing his rifle.

Adair did the same closest to the other side, covering Oscar as he leapt onto one of the buses and pulled Glenn up behind him.

"Go," she said to Maggie. The girl hesitated just a moment. Gunfire pelted the ground at Adair's feet and she leapt back. "Go!" she shouted again, returning fire.

_Bastards!_ she thought angrily. Before she could think about what she was doing, rage overtook her and she started walking toward the gunfire, blasting her rifle. _Fucking assholes!_

"Adair!" she heard Daryl bellow from across the street. "_Get back, goddammit!"_

She ignored him, continuing her enraged walk. She didn't see their faces. Woodbury slowly melted away and receded into blackness as the clearing in the forest where the camp was came rushing in. She suddenly saw the faces of the women from a year ago. Laying on the ground at night in their sleeping bags, wondering, worrying if they were going to get plucked. Terrified.

She looked around. She saw the empty, frightened looks on some of their faces. The blank faces. The faces of acceptance, of resignation. Those were the worst of all. They knew they couldn't fight the men. It was better to just let it happen. _I should have fought for you. _

She saw the woman with whom she had locked eyes that first night in camp when she was huddled in her sleeping bag, too scared to move. The woman must have been new too, because she looked absolutely terrified. When the men carried her off, past Adair's sleeping bag, she had met her eyes, seen Adair watching. Her mouth opened, no sound coming out, but she held her hand out. It was a silent plea. Shame mixed with Adair's rage when she remembered what she'd done. She'd rolled over, turning her back to the woman, pulling the bag over her head. She'd clapped her hands over hears to drown out the woman's cries.

Adair, holding her machine gun, pointed it at herself on the ground in her sleeping bag.

_You didn't do shit. You could have helped her and you laid there!_

The faces of the men she was shooting shifted from the ghostly faces of the women in camp to the faces of the men in camp. The rapists, the abusers. A furious cry tore at her throat and she moved like a robot, sending sprays of automatic gunfire at them.

She saw men drop intermittently. One man, who had the face of the man who'd sliced her jaw and throat open, walked up to her quickly, cocking his rifle. Without hesitating, she turned and sent a spray of bullets in his direction. He dropped with a heavy thud, and sweet, angry vengeance crowded into her heart. She conjured up the women's faces again, the woman who had silently begged for her help. _For you. That's for you. I'll never be a coward again. If it kills me, I'll never just lay there again._

Whether she killed them or not, she couldn't be sure. She clenched her jaw, a death grip on the rifle in her hands as she swung it up, from side to side, looking hungrily for her next target.

Suddenly a guttural shout sounded behind her and she whirled her head around. The sound broke her from her enraged, insane reverie. She was back in Woodbury now. Not in the old camp. And…

_Oh, shit._

Oscar was down. Rick was on his feet heading toward the bus, shooting at the man who must have shot Oscar.

_No! Shit! Not him!_

"Rick! Rick!" Maggie screamed, crouching over Oscar.

It was like it happened in slow motion. Adair saw Rick break into a run toward the bus, shouting for Daryl, who held up a hand before sending more shots at the townspeople.

Adair took one running step toward the bus when a searing pain ripped through her shoulder. She stumbled to one knee, confused. Her left shoulder was on fire..._wasn't it?_

She clawed at her shoulder, seeing no fire but thick red blood oozing from the side of her shoulder. Her vision went hazy and she slumped forward onto her hands.

_No,_ she thought angrily. _Gotta get up. Gotta help._

"Adair!" she heard someone scream. She thought it might be Daryl but she couldn't hear so well at the moment.

_Get. Up! _her mind screamed. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself back up to one knee.

She looked over, seeing him racing in her direction, stopping short when a hail of bullets went whizzing in his direction. For a sickening moment, she thought he'd been shot, but he brought his rifle up and over and returned fire. He sidled over closer to her a few more paces, absolute panic on his face when he looked at her.

Suddenly, hands dropped on her and she looked up, Rick hazily blurring in and out of her vision. He had a hold of her good arm and was trying to lift it around his shoulders. He hauled her up to her feet as though she weighed nothing more than a child.

"Daryl, get over here!" he yelled.

"Right behind you!" Daryl bellowed back. "Get her out!"

"Come on," Rick said in her ear. He put her good arm over his shoulder and started to step away. Blood loss made her dizzy, her feet stumbling over each other and she tripped, bringing them both down. Rick staggered to keep his balance. She grew angry again at her own weakness. She was tired. But now wasn't the time for tired.

"Sorry," she mumbled, wrenching away from Rick. With a mighty grunt, she pushed herself to one knee. Why was she so hazy? She hadn't even been shot _through _the shoulder. "I can do it. I can do it."

_Just grazed_, she thought firmly, ignoring the feeling of thick blood seeping down her arm.

"Adair, we don't have time for this!" Rick said impatiently, grabbing her arm again.

Inexplicably, she reached her free hand out toward Daryl, seeing him watching them. He was yelling something at her. Pain flowed through her body as the arm she'd lifted dropped to her side.

Vertigo assaulted her as she felt herself being hefted off her feet. Rick slung her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold and started to run.

"Can't just leave him," she shouted weakly. Apparently, Rick hadn't heard her because he kept running. "_You can't just leave him!" _she shrieked, her voice cracking.

He kept going, and the jouncing made her feel nauseous and eventually, she blacked out.

:O:O:O:

She came to with a start, as she was being laid on the grass. They were back to their arrival point, by the old car in front of the entrance. She hadn't blacked out that long, she noticed. She still felt nauseous.

"She's shot," Maggie said in a low murmur.

"Grazed, dammit," Adair slurred, annoyed. _Just grazed. It's nothing_. Suddenly she remembered a movie she'd seen once a while ago. Some British production. It was funny. There was a scene with a knight in black armor who kept getting his limbs hacked off by some other guy but remained unfazed. _'Tis nothing but a scratch_, she thought, letting out a hysterical giggle.

"Is she...all right?" She heard Maggie's voice again.

"I'm not sure," Rick's voice said.

Adair squinted at them and shook her head, desperate to clear it of its fog. _Ok, you're better now!_ she commanded herself. _This is getting old! Wake up!_

Sudden burning pain in her arm made her scream, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself. Rick was wrapping some sort of cloth, maybe a piece of someone's shirt, tightly around her shoulder.

_My shirt,_ she realized dumbly. He'd torn the bottom of her shirt off to bandage her. _How come I didn't notice that?_

_Get it together, bitch! _she thought harshly, shaking her head to get rid of the haziness for the millionth time.

"You ok?" Rick asked her, gripping her chin and forcing her to look in his eyes. His brow knitted with concern.

"Yeah," she rasped, "just peachy." She glanced around, seeing Maggie and Glenn but no Daryl. "Where the hell is he?"

"He was behind us," Rick said. "Come on, Daryl," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"I told you not to leave him," she said, her low tone slightly accusatory.

Before Rick could reply, there was a rustling noise behind them.

_Daryl, _she thought, feeling immense relief as she whipped around quickly. The quick movement, combined with the disappointment of seeing not him but Michonne, made her sick to her stomach. If she could have, she would have thrown up. As it was, she gagged involuntarily.

Rick raised his gun on Michonne, noting her bloody, battered exterior. "Where the hell were _you?_" he demanded. Maggie lifted her gun as well, moving in behind the woman. "Put your hands up!"

Michonne slowly complied, never taking her eyes off Rick.

"Turn around," he commanded her. "Turn around!"

The woman turned and Rick took her katana from her. She backed up against an old train car.

"Get what you came for?" Rick asked sarcastically.

"Where are the rest of your people?" she asked, looking around at the group. "And she got shot?" She gestured at Adair, still on the ground.

"I got grazed, dammit," Adair shot back. "_Grazed!_"

"They got Oscar," Glenn hissed, now on his feet and holding a gun on her as well.

"Daryl's missin', you didn't see him?" Adair demanded, struggling to one knee.

The woman watched her as she slowly, unsteadily rose to her feet. She shook her head, an almost apologetic look in her eyes.

"If anything happens to him -" Rick stepped up close to her and she whirled on him.

"I brought you here to save them," she said evenly.

"Thanks for the help," Rick replied dryly.

"You'll need help," Michonne said, her tone almost desperate now, "to get them back to the prison."

"We ain't goin' nowhere," Adair said bossily, louder than she'd meant to, "without Daryl."

"Or to go back in there for Daryl," Michonne added, not looking at Adair or missing a beat, "either way - you need me."

Rick frowned at her, but Adair could see that she had a point.

"Don't give a rat's ass who stays or who goes," Adair rasped, "but I know I ain't goin' anywhere without that man. Something must have happened to him; one or two people ain't just gonna sneak up on him. He should be here by now!"

"You can't do much in your present condition," Rick said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Michonne and I, we'll stay and go after him. You need to go with Maggie and Glenn, get some medical help."

"No," she said angrily. She swayed slightly on her feet, but the rage that stemmed from that display of weakness steadied her. "I'm not leavin' without him!" She leaned over, too fast, to snatch her rifle from the ground, refusing to give in to the black spots that danced in front of her eyes as she righted herself.

"No," Rick said, finality in his voice, "if I have to carry you back to the car myself and strap you in, no. You're in no shape -"

She knew it was dead wrong of her. Dead wrong, and she knew she was going to have to answer for it later. Her daddy had always taught her, "Never, ever pull it unless you're gonna pop it. Same goes for puttin' your finger on the trigger too. Straight-finger or squeeze."

Her mind accepted all of that, including the wrongness of what she was about to do, in an instant as she brought her Glock up, from behind her back, and leveled it at Rick's face, her finger on the trigger.

If he was surprised or unnerved, he didn't show it. Instead, his face held a look of understanding and resignation.

"I'm goin'," she said, her voice deadly quiet. _And I'll apologize for this later_, she thought to herself, sighing inwardly.

After a long moment, Rick nodded finally, holding a hand out. His fingers lightly touched the barrel of her gun, and she allowed him to slowly push it down, her finger sliding off the trigger to rest along the side of the gun.

"We're wastin' time," she said. "Lead the way."

_My turn to save you,_ she thought. _I'm comin'._

:O:O:O:

The townspeople's crazed leader was shouting something about traitors and terrorists. Daryl wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was shouting, as he was concentrating on falling on his face or ass. He had a hood over his head, much like what he'd seen over Glenn and Maggie's heads just a little while ago. In fact, if the blood stains on the hood over his face were any indication, this might have been the very hood that Glenn had actually had on.

Two rough hands dug into his arms painfully. He figured they had to be some big assholes holding onto him. His large arms weren't things a person could just grab a hold of.

They propelled him forward, his feet stumbling over each other. He was a little scared, but he was more worried about the team, about Adair. He hadn't gotten close enough to see how badly she'd been shot, but he had seen the blood ooze down her arm. The last he'd seen before the four huge assholes had jumped him was Rick finally slinging her over his shoulder and running off. Daryl had made to follow, but those plans had been sidetracked when the butt of a rifle was rudely introduced to his temple.

He had no idea what was going to be done with him, or why they hadn't killed him right away. Unless that was the plan and this Governor asshole was into public executions.

Suddenly he was shoved forward, and a different pair of hands grabbed at him, pushing him to the side, a hand grappling at the hood on his head.

"...traitor's own brother!" He heard a male voice shout triumphantly in his ear.

_Traitor? Brother? Merle's the traitor? _his mind wondered. The hood was yanked off his head and he shook his head furiously, glancing over at his captor. The man was tall with dark hair and a white bandage across one eye. It looked like a fresh wound. Daryl wondered vaguely if he was looking at Michonne's handiwork.

As the Governor shoved him away, he stumbled, trying to find his footing, determined not to go ass over teakettle in front of these assholes. The townspeople were a seething, mad crowd all around him, their faces lit up evilly in the light from the fire pits all around. There was a set of bleachers across from him, and as he looked around, he realized he was in some sort of fighting pit.

He felt scared. He hated it, but he felt really, really scared in that moment. His eyes fell on a blonde seated on the bleachers. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open with shock.

_Andrea_, he thought vaguely. _I'll be damned_.

His eyes next fell on the man he never thought he'd see again.

_Merle._

_Big brother, _he thought, searching his brother's face. He looked as shell-shocked as Daryl felt. Daryl's eyes stung involuntarily.

"You wanted your brother," the Governor said to Merle with an evil smile. "You got him." He turned to the crowd. "What should we do with these traitors?" he shouted.

"Kill them!" was the resounding shout. Daryl had never been among so much hate in one place; it was overwhelming.

Dread knotted his stomach as he met his brother's eyes again, seeing the fear he felt mirrored in Merle's identical blue gaze.

He suddenly realized why he felt like he was saying goodbye to Adair earlier that day. It was because he was.

His heart thumped hard in his chest as the screams of the townspeople rose higher, more enraged, into the night sky. He briefly shut his eyes, saying a last little prayer.

_Thanks for bringin' her to us. To me. Keep them safe for me. Keep her safe. She made me see something different._

He swallowed hard, bringing up her face in his mind.

_Thank you for that._

He exhaled a breath, seeing her twinkling gray eyes in front of him. It calmed him.

He ignored the people, the Governor, even his brother for just a moment, watching the eyes.

He stood quietly, perfectly still, waiting for the end.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note - OK...So I know I said I was going to call this quits until the season picks up again. But I worked out an amazing rescue sequence that I'm sure in no way aligns with the show's canon plot. However, it showcases Adair's badassness and I don't think there's any other way to do that justice. So, I'm going to do this my way and will eventually rejoin the plot of the show :-) There are massive liberties being taken and hopefully I can find a way to rework anything that doesn't make sense once the show picks up. But whatever. Cross that bridge later and such. Enjoy!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Down With the Sickness by Disturbed**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 19**

Maggie took Glenn back to the prison at Rick's orders, despite a flood of protests from both.

"Rick, you need us," Glenn growled, gripping his side, his face contorting with pain.

"No," Rick said. "You can hardly walk, Glenn, and you can't make it back to the car on your own. I won't let you." He turned to Maggie. "Drop him off and come back to where the car was," he instructed her. "We're gonna need a fast getaway."

She frowned, clearly not liking it, but nodded reluctantly. "Good luck," she said softly. "Stay safe." She readjusted her grip on Glenn, helping the injured young man along. Glenn looked backward, frowning, then turned back as he hobbled along with Maggie.

Rick turned to Adair. She was starting to get a little color back in her cheeks, but he suspected it was pure adrenaline and nothing else. Despite the superficial wound, she'd lost a lot of blood and was risking infection the longer she went without it cleaned and stitched up.

"Don't ask me again, Rick," she said, as if she was reading his mind. "We need to go now – listen."

Rick listened intently, hearing a swell of shouts and yells coming from the distance.

Adair pointed at the main gate. "Look – the sentries are missing. How irresponsible of them." She slammed a fresh mag into her rifle then checked to make sure her Glock was loaded, even though she knew it was since she hadn't fired it once tonight. Her fingers went to her belt. _Knife_, she thought, feeling but not looking. Her fingers traveled to the other side. _Other knife. Check._

"You ready?" she asked Rick and Michonne. Rick quickly checked his rifle and gun, and nodded. Michonne unsheathed her katana.

Adair frowned at her. "Give her a piece," she said to Rick. She turned back to the woman. "Ever hear the phrase, 'never bring a knife to a gunfight'?"

Michonne reluctantly sheathed her katana, accepting the loaded gun from Rick along with a couple mags. Adair quirked an eyebrow at them, silently asking if they were finally ready.

Rick studied the young woman. Over the course of this night, she had changed. The sweetness she'd always had had disappeared. There was something intense and animalistic about her that went beyond her desire to get Daryl back. He'd seen her mad charge in the courtyard earlier, screaming as she fired her weapon, not just at the townspeople but an unseen enemy. She hadn't been the same since. Then there was the small issue of her pulling a loaded gun on him and pointing it at his face, with her finger on the trigger. He honestly hadn't really taken offense to the threat; in fact, he understood. It was more that it was so out of character for her to behave that way. She had transformed into a crazed, rabid lioness in the span of a couple hours.

Adair felt Rick's eyes and frowned at him. She thought he was appraising her state of health for the umpteenth time. If she was being honest with herself, she did feel like a huge, steaming pile of dog shit. Her entire left arm ached like a motherfucker, she was dehydrated, and she was nauseous. She was running off of pure desire and adrenaline at this point; thinking of whatever trouble Daryl could be in right now sent jolts of it flowing through her system, waking up her brain and forcing her body into fight mode. And ready to fight she was. She felt vicious and angry; she'd love to meet this Governor asshole, whoever he was. _When I find you, I will fuck your shit up._

"Let's go," Rick said, stepping ahead of her. They scurried along the copse of greenery as before, going around to the building that Michonne had originally brought them to. They squeezed through the broken wooden slats near the bottom of the door again. As before, Adair tripped over the same metal table.

"You'd think she'd remember," Michonne mused aloud to Rick, who snorted in spite of the tense situation.

"Both of you, shut up," Adair growled, shoving the table over on its side in a childish burst of outrage. They moved to the front of the room. Adair's finger twitched on the trigger of her rifle.

"What's the Governor look like?" she asked.

Michonne's full lips twisted into a smirk. "After I got through with him, a one-eyed son of a bitch."

"Cycloptic son of a bitch," Adair repeated with a nod. "Got it."

"He's mine," Rick said over his shoulder, looking at her intensely. "You just worry about Daryl."

"Get in line," Adair growled back.

"Both of you, shut up," Michonne hissed, staring out the window. "Streets are clear. Totally empty. No guards, nothing."

"They're all together someplace," Adair said. "In one place. Bet that's where they've got Daryl. Just follow the noise."

"Here," Rick said, pressing a couple flash-bangs into her hands. He handed Michonne a couple as well. Adair shoved one into her pocket. The other joined the clip in her bra. She caught Rick giving her a funny look.

"Improvising," she whispered. He shrugged and pushed the door open, seeing it was indeed clear as Michonne observed. Nevertheless, they stuck as close to the shadows cast by the buildings as possible.

"Wait," Adair said, grabbing a handful of the back of Rick's shirt, making him stop. "Hear that?" From the distance, they heard another chorus of shouting, one lone voice shouting above them.

"This way," Rick said, pointing in the direction of the shouting. They ran fast toward the noise, cutting across the streets as stealthily as possible. Adair was amazed. There was not a single person on the streets or observing them from the windows above – every townsperson had to be wherever the shouting was coming from.

The shouting was getting closer, and louder. They sidled along the wall of a brick building, cast in shadows, until they saw it.

To Adair's eyes, it looked like some sort of fighting pit, surrounded by flaming tiki torches. There was a couple sets of bleachers facing it, and people crowded on the bleachers and on the ground, around the pit. She could see a tall man with a white bandage around his head. It could only be one person. Adair's trigger finger twitched again.

As if reading her mind, Rick glanced back at her and shook his head.

She couldn't see very well through the thick crowd. She certainly didn't see Daryl.

"Come on," Rick murmured over his shoulder.

They moved fast and low across the street, to the edge of one of the buildings that enclosed the pit. Now that they were closer, Adair could clearly see Daryl and Merle facing off against each other. Daryl still had his vest on, but the sleeveless button-up shirt underneath it was torn and he had some marks on his face, indicating he'd gotten roughed up.

_Sons of bitches_, Adair thought angrily.

"Adair," Rick breathed, grabbing her arm. He handed her his flash-bangs. "I want you on the roof. You throw these down, give us some cover. We'll come in from the side of building. You pick off anyone that fires at you. They're all strapped. Return fire if you have to, and get the hell out of the building. Don't wait for us – just run for the car."

Adair's mouth fell open. "Why me on the roof?" she demanded.

Rick glared at her. "You've got a bum ankle, you got shot, and you lost a lot of blood." He grabbed her good shoulder. "Don't argue with me. You're no good to me dead. Just throw the flash-bangs when you get to the roof and get the hell out. Michonne and I will take care of the rest."

She frowned, but nodded. His tone left no room for argument. "What about you guys?"

Rick glanced at Michonne. "We'll be right behind you."

"I've heard that one before," Adair muttered darkly.

"This time it's true," Rick said. "We're here to grab Daryl."

"What if somethin' goes south?" Michonne demanded. "What if Daryl goes down, slips away, we lose him somehow?"

Rick sighed in frustration. "I'll stay behind. I won't leave without him. If things go south, you've got to meet up with Adair. She's held up fine so far, but I don't think she's in any shape to make a two mile jaunt back to the car, let alone all the way back to the prison on foot."

They fell silent when they heard the Governor.

"A fight to the death!" he bellowed. Another roar from the crowd.

Adair gulped. There were only two logical choices for participants in a fight to the death. They needed to move.

Rick glanced at her. "How's your pitchin' arm?"

"Never went pro," she replied. "But I did all right in the intramural."

He smirked. "When they hit, we go in nice and low," he said to Michonne. "Try to get Daryl like we did Glenn and Maggie."

Michonne nodded tersely.

"Go," Rick said urgently to Adair. She turned and sidled along the edge of the building, turning the corner tightly like she was wrapped to it. She found the door and silently pulled it open, slipping inside like a shadow.

There was a staircase immediately before her. She wasn't sure what this building used to be, but it certainly wasn't a home. Therefore, it should have immediate roof access.

The building wasn't too tall either, which worked in her favor. She wouldn't have to navigate through flights and flights of stairs. She estimated it was about a six-story high building.

She bypassed the staircase in front of her, instead spotting a door for the stairwell. She pulled it open, shutting it carefully behind her so it wouldn't slam. If Michonne's estimate of seventy-five townspeople was accurate, there were about that many people outside right now, or less, considering they had killed some of the townspeople that night. The building should be clear, but she didn't want to take any chances. She unsheathed her largest knife, and took to the stairs.

She started getting tired, pausing to catch her breath, feeling light-headed. She cheered up slightly when she spotted a sign on the wall that said "Roof Access".

Presently, she reached a door that signaled the end of the road. She pushed it open carefully. She bit back a gasp when she saw a sentry standing on the roof. He hadn't heard her open the door, the din from below drowning out any additional noise. His back was to her, watching the pit. She had no idea what was going on, but the crowd was going crazy.

Before shutting the door, she quickly glanced around the other rooftops. She saw no one else but the lone sentry in front of her.

Deftly, she crossed the roof to the sentry. He still hadn't noticed her. She slid up behind him, carefully pulling her Glock from the small of her back. She twirled it around in her hand so she held the barrel, and with one, quick motion, brought the butt down hard across the back of his skull. He crumpled the rooftop silently.

Panting, she dragged him back, fishing one of the three pairs of zip-ties she had out of her pocket. She snatched his rifle away from him and quickly bound his hands together. As an afterthought, she unwound the scrap of her T-shirt around her shoulder and instead balled it up and shoved it in the man's mouth as a gag before pushing him facedown to the side of the roof.

Pulling her binding from her wound had reopened it, sending fresh waves of pain rolling through her, blood starting to seep down her arm again. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she ran silently across the roof to lean over the side that faced the side of the street they had snuck up to. She looked down at Rick and Michonne, crouched by the edge of the wall of the building, ready.

She saw a small chunk of brick lying on the roof nearby, and hefted it. She dropped it over the side of the building, where it would drop just behind Michonne. She knew she was taking a huge risk, her fears validated when they both swung their weapons up at her, but she quickly waved a hand, seeing their faces relax at the sight of her.

She flashed the "ok" sign and ran back over to the edge where the sentry had been. Her shoulder was bleeding crazily now, but she took a deep, shaky breath, lying flat on her belly and slithering closer to the roof. She pulled the pins from two flash-bangs, laying the other two she had before her.

In rapid succession, she threw one canister immediately after the other, pausing only to pull the pins from the other two before sending them over the side of the roof.

Immediately, screams sounded, but suddenly the smoke was so thick that she couldn't see a thing. Then the shooting began, crazy, intermittent automatic rifles going off. She crab-walked backward as fast as possible, seeing bits of brick spraying up from the edge at her. She grabbed her rifle and the sentry's, slinging it over her shoulder, but was scared to death to fire back, the possibility of hitting Daryl or Rick or Michonne not worth returning fire.

She glanced back to the stairwell entrance. She knew the armed townspeople would be on the roof in seconds. There was no way she could jump _off _the building. She glanced over. The neighboring building was roughly the same height as this one, and built very close. Jumping across, or trying, was her only option.

She huffed a breath, her shoulder killing her, but she ran to the edge, gauging the distance. It was about a six foot distance to cross. She remembered jumping off the tree onto the roof of the house so long ago. That was the day she'd met Daryl.

_I can do this,_ she told herself. She backed up several steps, and as she heard the door to the stairwell opening, she took off sprinting, adrenaline lending her strength as she pushed off the edge of the roof. She flew through the air.

_Not gonna make it! _her mind shrieked. But by some incredibly dumb stroke of luck, her hands caught the edge of the building, her shoulder screaming at her. For a moment the pain was so intense she thought she'd fall.

Thick smoke from the four canisters she'd thrown rose and flooded through the narrow alleyway, rising higher than the roofs of the buildings, blessedly lending her cover. There was so much of it, she wondered if Michonne hadn't added hers to the mix as well.

With inhuman strength, she hauled herself up just enough to swing a leg up over the edge of the roof. It was by sheer desire only that she hauled herself up and over, rolling over and over until she picked herself up, and simultaneously realized she'd been spotted.

"_Hey!"_

She ran for the stairwell entrance as the bullets from across the other roof started flying. Now, she did return fire, hefting the rifle one-handed and squeezing the trigger. She slammed up against the door, yanking it open. She tripped, falling ass over tea kettle down the first flight of stairs. Miraculously, she managed not to break any bones although she was pretty sure she was going to have some gnarly contusions. She picked herself up and continued down the stairs, until she heard commotion in the building she was in.

_Fuck! _

She needed to find a place to hide for a moment. She hesitated on the fourth floor landing, hand on the push bar on the door that would let her onto that floor, when she heard muffled voices.

"Third floor was clear; this floor looks clear. She might still be in the stairwell. We gotta get up to fifth."

She all but jumped down the entire flight of stairs, using the wall and railing to propel her along, panic setting in. She took the next flight of stairs down to the third floor landing as fast as possible, reaching the door just as the fourth floor door started to push open.

If she didn't move her ass, they'd see her and it would all be over.

As she heard the door above her open, she pushed the third floor door open as quickly as possible, hoping to make the latching noise match with the one above her. As she heard voices fill the stairwell, she silently closed the third floor door behind her.

She paused for a moment, her ear pressed to the door. She heard boots on stairs, but she needed to make sure which direction they were headed. As they grew fainter, she realized they'd headed up. She was safe – for the moment.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note - You guys ready? These chapters are coming up pretty fast...it was one long one but I chopped it up fuh yuh ;-) Thanks for the reviews so far piratejessieswaby and Pickure Poison! **

**LEGGGGGOOOO!**

**Recommended soundtrack: Fly by Veruca Salt**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 20**

She turned from the door to peer down a dim hallway. By the old signs on the wall bearing names of attorneys, apparently, it was a law office, or used to be. She walked slowly down the hall, her Glock in her right hand, a knife in her left. She didn't expect to see walkers. It was the living she was afraid of now.

This floor of the office building seemed to be empty for the time being. She knew the townspeople had scattered from the fighting pit earlier; it would probably only be a matter of time before they returned to their homes. She needed to hurry.

She paused outside an office with a plaque on the wall bearing the name "James Sampson, Esq." Glancing down, she saw a welcome mat in front of the door. A piece of paper on the door had a name scribbled in red marker – "McMillan". She wondered what had happened to James Sampson, Esq..

The door was locked, but on either side, there were long, narrow panes of glass as befit an office. The panes had curtains over them on the interior.

She flipped her Glock around in her hand, gripping the barrel, and tapped the glass carefully. It splintered slightly. With a few more taps, she was able to knock a piece out. She slipped her hand through the hole and fumbled to find the lock on the other side, turning one on the handle and a flip lock just above it. She pushed the door open, only for it to be caught on the deadbolt above her. She used her Glock again higher up on the glass, repeating the process to create another jagged hole so she could undo the deadbolt.

She slipped inside the office-turned-apartment silently, shutting the door but not taking her hand off the knob. She tensed, straining to listen for any noises that would indicate "McMillan" was home. She heard nothing.

She relocked the door and deadbolt behind her, and propped a chair under the doorknob before stepping carefully into the office, Glock in front of her. The office furniture had been cleared out, and there was a tiny living room on one side, and a kitchenette on the other. There was a small fridge and on a desk was a camping stove with a few other appliances. She headed toward a short hallway that opened to a room at the back. What had probably once been the office storage area had been converted into a tiny bedroom, with a mattress on the floor, a night table, and a small dresser. There was also a bathroom.

She huffed out a breath, her shoulder sending her a painful reminder she needed medical care. She stepped inside the bathroom and started rifling through the cupboard below the sink. She found a first aid kit, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a bottle of ibuprofen.

She placed the items on the counter, glancing around for a small towel. She found two small decorative floral towels hung against a bar protruding from the wall and grabbed them both. She wet the corner of one with water to carefully wash the blood off her arm. When that was done, she soaked the other corner in hydrogen peroxide. She lifted it level with her shoulder, hesitating. She knew it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. She reached for the other towel, placing it between her teeth. She sucked in a deep breath, her teeth clenching around the towel in her mouth, and placed the other towel against her arm.

The pain was intense. She couldn't help a deep, guttural moan of pain from erupting out of her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. Luckily the noise was muffled with the towel in her mouth, her teeth closing around the fabric so hard she wondered if she'd cracked a tooth. She hissed out a breath, finally throwing the towel on her arm away from her. She glanced at the wound, seeing it was covered with tiny white bubbles. She really did need stitches. _Hershel's gonna be mighty busy when we get back,_ she thought, smirking darkly.

She pulled a pack of gauze out of the kit, unwrapping it and slapping it to her arm as she looked for medical tape. There was none. She rifled under the counter again, seeing a roll of duct tape. She pulled it out, sighing. This would hurt like hell to pull off, but it was apparently her only option.

She pulled the gauze off her arm to add another layer from a fresh package, then placed the two pieces over the wound. She used her teeth to snip off a length of tape and wrapped it around her arm. When it was done, she sighed. It was as good as she was going to get.

She poured out a handful of ibuprofen, plucking out three pills before putting the rest in her pocket. She popped them in her mouth and ducked her head under the faucet to swallow them. As she drank, she realized how incredibly thirsty she was.

She went back out into the living room area and pulled the fridge door open, immediately grabbing a bottle of water and a bottle of orange juice. There was some sort of casserole dish inside with unidentified food particles in it. She shut the door as she wrenched the cap off the water bottle and guzzled it down thirstily.

She pulled open the drawer on the desk used as counter space for the appliances. She spotted several fruit cocktail cups and a box of Power bars. She grabbed two fruit cups and a bar, setting her water down. The water itself was already doing wonders for her. She popped the cap on the small bottle of orange juice and drank it down in a hurry before wrenching the plastic from the fruit cups. She poured the fruit and juice into her mouth, chewing greedily, wondering if she'd ever tasted anything so good. She wolfed down the second cup in record time before snatching the wrapper back off the Power bar.

As she chomped on the bar, she gathered up the bottles, the cups, and the wrapper, carrying them back to the bathroom. She wrung out the two towels, folding them and laying them in the sink. She set out the water bottle, the orange juice bottle, the two fruit cups and the wrapper neatly on the counter, followed by the gauze wrappers, the bottle of ibuprofen and the first aid kit.

Apparently McMillan was a woman – or a man with personal preferences – because she found a lipstick on the counter. Chewing the Power bar, she scrawled "Thanks" on the mirror in pink lipstick. As an afterthought, below that she wrote "Sorry about the window". She finished the bar, finishing off the bottle of water, and decided to use the toilet briefly before heading on her way. When she was finished, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She was taken aback by her reflection – she was dirty, covered in scrapes and bruises, had dirty white gauze wrapped around her left forearm to cover her stitches, gauze around her upper left arm, a bum ankle and now, thanks to her tumble down the stairs, her right knee cap was starting to swell with a large bruise, and ached with every step.

She scowled at herself before exiting the bathroom. _You're disgusting._ But she had to admit, she was feeling better now than she had all night. The water, orange juice and food had replenished her energy, the sugar spike much needed and welcome. Her brain wasn't foggy anymore, her vision felt sharp and focused. Even her hearing seemed to be sharper.

_And speaking of…_

She heard thumps and voices directly above her. She better get moving. She wished she could take some more food and water with her, but she had nothing to carry them in and she needed her hands free.

She remembered seeing a sliding patio on one side of the main living area, by the kitchenette. She opened it, peeking out, and saw a fire escape. That would be much better than trying to navigate through the building.

She quickly readjusted her weapons, slinging a rifle over each shoulder so the straps crossed over her back and the weight was more evenly distributed. She triple-checked her Glock, seeing that it was still fully loaded and tucked into the side of her pants. Her hands felt for her knives, ensuring they were still in place.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped silently onto the fire escape landing, pausing a moment to glance up toward the roof, down below, and side to side.

The portion of the street this side of the building opened to seemed relatively clear, although she could still see thick smoke, hear shouts and screams echoing from other parts of the town. She pressed her back as close to the wall as she could get and sidled sideways down the stairs, her rifles in each hand.

When she reached the street, she used her general sense of direction to guide her back toward the entrance. She prayed that Rick and Michonne were ok, and that they'd gotten Daryl. She stuck close to the shadows of the buildings, running fast and low.

She was barreling past the opening of a narrow alleyway when a pair of hands reached out and grabbed her. She started to shout when a hand dropped over her mouth. She was slammed against the wall of one of the buildings. She yelled through the hand, struggling to bring up her left hand, her knife clutched in it. That wrist was grabbed and pinned to the wall. She flailed, trying to punch, trying to knee, but her assailant had an extra pair of arms as every attempt at assault was blocked.

She realized the assailant was speaking at her. "Adair!" it said harshly. "Stop! Calm down!"

_Rick_, her mind realized and she went limp.

He pressed her against the brick wall, cupping her face in his hands. "Jesus, are you all right?"

She nodded, breathing out. "Fine, but what are you doing here? Where's Michonne? Daryl?"

"Michonne took off for the rally point," Rick told her. "And – and I lost Daryl."

Adair glared at him. "What do you mean, _lost_?"

"I mean I had him, but when he found out where you were, he took off after you, and Merle went with him. They ended up getting caught again; I think they were taken to some holding place. Maybe the same place where Glenn and Maggie were, I don't know for sure – but the Governor has men all over these streets and in the buildings. He and I were…_introduced_ this evening," he finished wryly.

"So he knows what you look like," she said.

"Yes. Adair – I'm not sure what to do at this point."

She understood the hesitation in his voice and grabbed his arm. "Rick, _you've _got to get out of here. They know what you look like; you can't help me find Daryl. They'll kill you as soon as they see you."

"But I can't leave you –"

"You can," she said gently. "Here." She handed over her rifles, noting that he'd somehow lost his. "Take both of these. I've got my gun and my knives still. They haven't gotten a good look at me; the smoke was too thick."

She pulled the elastic out of her hair, letting it flow down her back. "They know they're looking for a girl with a long ponytail and pants." She used her knife to cut along the seam in her pants, up to her thighs, then cut across, making a ragged pair of shorts. She cut the sleeves off her T-shirt and used the longer portion in back to knot in front.

With a few simple changes, Rick noted in wonder, she'd almost entirely changed her appearance.

"I'm gonna get him," she promised. "You just get out of here, get back to the prison. Tell Michonne not to wait for me."

"How are you guys going to get back?"

She hesitated. "We'll figure it out," she said firmly. Shouts drew closer suddenly, but from which direction, she couldn't be sure. She pushed Rick's arm. "Go, hurry," she said urgently. "You'll be ok?"

He nodded. "Straight shot out of here to the entrance gate." He paused. "Get back _alive_," he hissed. "You hear me?"

She nodded. He gripped her shoulder for a moment, squeezing, before taking off into the night. She turned, seeing the smoke and glow from the bonfires from the street down the alleyway. She suddenly decided that the best place to hide was right out in the open.

She jogged down the narrow alley to where the street opened. She took a deep breath, sending up a quick prayer. If this didn't work…she was fucked.

She hid in the shadows for a second, watching people run past her. She spotted a tall man running in her direction. She stepped out of mouth of the alley and grabbed his arm as he ran past. She made her eyes look big and scared.

"What's going on?" she cried. "What is it?"

He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Who are you? You don't look familiar."

"I just got here yesterday," she said, trying to sound as scared as possible. "The Governor was supposed to announce it today, didn't you hear?"

"No," the man replied, but the urgency of the present moment stopped any further questions. "The town's under attack, miss, you better go home!" He saw her bandaged arm. "What happened?"

"I – I was just running from the pit and this guy, he shot me!" Adair cried back. "It just grazed me, but I didn't know where the doctor was so somebody else helped me out…I just want to get to my place! The terrorists are running around, I'm scared…"

The man smirked. "Not the traitor's brother. He tried to escape but we got him again."

"You did?" Adair tried to make her face look amazed and happy.

"Yeah, him and the traitor. They're in the screamer pits –" He broke off, realizing he'd said too much. "Er, the Governor has a special place for them."

"Where is the Governor now?" Adair asked. "Is he safe?"

"He's a good man, the Gov," the man said earnestly. "He's making sure that everyone is safe for now, goin' door to door. So you better git."

"Oh, ok," Adair said, making her voice sound breathless. "Thank you mister. Everyone here has been…so nice."

He nodded and patted her shoulder. "G'on, now."

Adair remembered exactly where the screamer pits where – that _was _where Glenn and Maggie had been held. She didn't want him to see her running that way, though, so she took off across the street before reaching the end of another alley and turning in the direction of the building that housed the pits.

She entered the building, seeing the familiar hallways with the metal walls. She heard commotion coming from further into the building and ducked into a small closet to hide, leaving the door the way she'd found it – slightly ajar. She peered through the crack.

She saw the Governor and several men standing outside one of the rooms where Glenn and Maggie had been kept.

"Keep them in here until I can be sure that the prison group is either gone or dead," he instructed his men coldly. "Andrea knows Merle's brother is here now, and she's not going to be happy if we outright kill them now."

"Why don't we just do it and tell her they attacked us?" one of the men said irritably.

The Governor fixed him with a cold stare. "Andrea's not that stupid," he spat back. "She said she wants to talk to him. Just do what I say. Keep them here for now." He turned on his heel. "Now, I have townspeople to check on. Lopez – you stay here guard the prisoners. They're locked up nice and tight so you should be fine." There was a chorus of mean-spirited laughter. "The rest of you, come with me. We need to present a unified front to the people."

"Sir," one of the men said tentatively. "You lost an eye tonight…maybe you should rest."

Adair saw the Governor whirl on his heel, glaring at the man. "Rest? There's no time for rest, Milton! Now come on! Our people must have a lot of questions, and we've had some casualties tonight. Let's go!"

Adair quickly ducked back, pulling her Glock out of her newly created shorts as they tromped past her hiding spot. She moved back to the crack in the door, just barely able to see the guard they'd left. He was young, probably no more than twenty-one at the outside. The door he stood in front of had a heavy chain across it with a padlock hanging from the chain. Her eyes traveled to the key ring on the kid's belt, noting the gun in the holster on his hip as well.

She set her gun down on the closet floor and ran a hand through her hair, pulling it around her face as a smile curled her lips. She made her eyes look big and scared like she had with the other man and pushed the door open gently, stepping out of the closet. She had about two feet of shadows in front of her cast from the dim lighting and the angled walls. She raised her hands in the air and slowly stepped out of the shadows.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note - I'm probably posting too fast. I should space this out a little more, shouldn't I? Like, one per day. But I have no self-control.**

**Recommended soundtrack: Stripper by the Soho Dolls**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 21**

Lopez was bored. And pissed.

After they'd brought the traitor and the terrorist down to the screamer pits, put them into separate rooms to be held until later while they dealt with the other terrorists that had infiltrated the town, he'd felt cool, awesome even, when _the Governor_, for chrissakes, put him in charge of guarding them. He was officially a badass.

But with the heavy chain links on the doors, with the traitor being knocked unconscious and the traitor's brother seeming to not have much fight left in him, it was boring. He'd hoped for a little verbal altercation if nothing else. Plus, all the other guys had laughed at him when the Gov implied he _needed _those chains on the doors against the traitor and the terrorist. He didn't.

_Ain't neva scared,_ he thought, remember the line from one of his favorite rap songs.

Now though, he leaned against the wall, bored out of his skull. _What I wouldn't give for a smoke_, he thought wistfully.

He heard footsteps and immediately pulled his gun out, pointing it in the direction they came from. They were hesitant, not purposeful like the other guys' would be.

There. In the shadows from down the hall.

"Come into the light," he barked. "I heard you. Nice and slow. Don't try any funny shit. I'll blow your fuckin' head off." He hoped he sounded tough.

The footsteps slowed, then a pair of sleek legs stepped into view under the pool of light from the wall torch overhead, followed by a torso, two raised arms, and finally, a head.

The guard bit his tongue to prevent an involuntary whistle from escaping his lips. He dropped his gun slightly. _Think my night might have just picked up_, he thought, licking his lips.

The intruder was a girl. Well, a woman, a young woman, someone he'd never seen before and he'd made a concentrated effort to clock all of the eligible ass in town. She had long, raven black hair and big, pale eyes. He saw her full lips pull into a shy smile and saw a dimple appear in her cheek. He loved dimples.

He licked his lips again as his eyes slid down the rest of her. She had on a ripped up black V-neck T-shirt that was tied up in a knot in front, exposing her flat abdomen. She had on some ripped up, tight shorts that showed off her shapely legs and boots. She looked awesome. She looked like…_like_….his mind struggled to think of something he really liked. _Like a fuckin' strawberry poptart. The kind with icing and sprinkles Sweet. Delicious_.

Her hands were raised hesitantly in the air as she stared at him. She looked scared shitless.

"What are you doin' down here?" He made his voice sound harsh. "Who are you?"

"Please!" she said in a high, sweet voice. She had a deep southern twang. _Georgia, for sure_. "I got lost in the ruckus outside. I didn't mean to be down here. I know I'm not supposed to be down here…I'm new in town, and I don't have all this figured out."

"How new?" Lopez demanded. "Ain't never seen you before. The Gov didn't make no announcement."

"I know!" the girl said quickly. Her hands were still in the air but she took a step closer. "I've been here a few days now. He was supposed to announce it tonight, but…" she trailed off, shrugging.

But those plans had gone to hell with the intruders. _Of course_.

He slowly lowered his gun. She was harmless. Scared, obviously.

"Can you just help get me out of here?" she asked. "I'm – I'm kinda scared! With all the gunfire, I got lost and ended up here. I was hiding in a closet when they brought those – those terrorist guys down here." Her big eyes widened even more as she gazed into his eyes. "Oh, my God. Are they down here right now?"

The guard gestured casually over his shoulder to the door right behind him.

A look of absolute terror crossed her face as she clapped a hand to her mouth. Instinctively, he reached out.

"Hey, hey miss, it's ok. They ain't gonna do nothin' to ya," he said, hoping he sounded strong. "I'll protect ya. 'Sides." He reached out and rattled the chain across the door. "He ain't goin' nowhere."

She dropped her hand away from her mouth and smiled again, looking at him trustingly. "Wow, you must be so brave," she said admiringly. His chest puffed out slightly.

"I am such a chicken," she went on, chuckling slightly in a self-deprecatory manner. "I couldn't do what you're doin' right now. I'd be too scared." Her eyes fell on the gun he'd tucked back into the holster on his hip. "I don't even know how to use a gun. Can you believe that?" She folded her arms over her chest and stepped closer. She swiveled her body slightly, showing him the knife sheath at her belt. "That's all I've got. Do you know I've never used it before?" Her tone turned incredulous and she giggled again. He smiled back. She was such a cutie.

Suddenly, she stopped laughing, dropping her voice to a whisper. Her eyes darted to the door. "Can he hear us?" she whispered, her eyes going wide with fear.

Lopez felt extra-macho as he reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "No worries, miss. He's fine. Don't worry about him. So where are you from? You said you've been here a few days?"

She nodded. "Yes, I had a group. They all died, and somehow my little cowardly self escaped." She batted her long, thick black lashes slightly. "The Governor was out on a mission, I think, I saw him and his men out. I ran to them. He took me in." She smiled sweetly. "I'm so grateful. The camp I was with before, well, the men were like you. Really strong and brave, took care of us women. That's why I never had to fight."

"Well, you shouldn't have to," Lopez hurried to say, lost in her sweet, sad gray eyes. "Pretty little thing like you. I'd keep you safe," he rushed to add.

She giggled, reaching out to pat his bicep. "Aw, that's so sweet of you. Wow, that's nice," she added, her eyes wide as she withdrew her hand from his arm. "So you're not scared, really? All those people shootin' earlier, now that terrorist guy right behind you?"

"Not at all," he said proudly. He jerked his head to the window in the door. "Wanna take a peek?"

"At the terrorist?" she said, her voice a squeak. She shook her head rapidly. "No, no I couldn't –"

"Come on," he said, smiling.

She returned his smile shyly. "Well, ok. But will you stand right next to me? I get scared so easy." Her lips pouted slightly.

"Of course," he said smoothly. He leaned against the wall next to the door as she put her hands gingerly on the door, leaning up on her toes to peek through the window. He surreptitiously checked her ass out. _Could set a drink on that thing_, he thought, pulling the line from one of his favorite rap songs. It probably wasn't exactly true in her case, but it _was_ nice and round. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he imagined what it would look like with him behind it.

Her profile was expressionless as she peered through the window at the terrorist, he noted with interest. When she leaned back down on her heels, she turned under his gaze and flashed him a nervous smile.

"So that's the terrorist everyone's talkin' about," she said, wrapping her arms around herself again.

The guard nodded. "Wanna see the traitor?" he asked.

She shook her head. "That's ok," she smiled. "I'd rather stay here and talk to you." That dimple appeared again. "That is, unless you'll get in trouble if you stand here talkin' to me? I don't wanna keep you from your very important duty. You _are _protectin' the town, after all."

His heart beat faster as he met her piercing stare. He cleared his throat. "I ain't gonna get in trouble," he announced. "You're fine to stand here. I'll even walk you home in a little bit."

His eyes dropped to her left arm. The upper part just below the shoulder was wrapped with gauze and duct tape, and her forearm was wrapped with gauze as well. "What happened?" he asked in alarm, hoping it wasn't a bite or something.

"I got shot!" she said. "Can you believe it? Well, not shot, just grazed, one of those terrorist guys tried to shoot at me when I was runnin'!"

"Asshole," the guard muttered. "Are you ok?"

"Oh yeah," she replied. "One of the nice townspeople wrapped it up for me." She lifted her arm, running a hand through her long, silky looking hair. Her T-shirt slipped up a bit higher, revealing more of her smooth abdomen. He stared at it hungrily.

"I really should learn about guns one of these days," she said ruefully. "Do you know I've never even held one? I'm such a little coward, I swear!"

"Wanna hold mine?" Lopez asked, reaching for his. Her eyes went wide as he unholstered it.

"No, no!" she said, quickly. She smiled shyly. "It looks heavy, and…I dunno, I'm such a little klutz, I'd probably shoot it off on accident or somethin'!" She backed up.

He chuckled. "You won't. Here." He held it out to her, butt first. She gingerly took it between her thumb and forefinger, holding it like it was a dirty sock.

She met his eyes and giggled. "I know this ain't right!" she said. "Wow, it is heavy!" Her eyes flitted to his. "Can you show me how to hold it proper? Maybe you can give me lessons. Tomorrow, if you're free?" Her voice took on a hopeful note.

_Be cool. You are so in that ass._ Lopez cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. "Sure, I'll help you. Lesson number one, right now." He boldly stepped up behind her, wondering if she would flinch. She held still.

He took the gun from her and her hands stayed open, palms up. "Teach me, Yoda," she teased, looking up at him over her shoulder.

A flash of heat went through him. She smelled sweet, soft, her silky hair brushing against his skin as he reached around her. He put the gun in her hand and formed her fingers around it.

"Straight finger when you're not shooting, right along the barrel," he said huskily in her ear. He grabbed her other hand, noting how soft it was, and manipulated it to wrap around the front of her gun hand. He stepped back.

She tested the weight of it then held the gun out in front of her. She looked at him, grinning. "How do I look?"

He laughed as he checked her out. She did look pretty damn cute like that. "Like a boss," he said.

She bent her elbows and pointed it up toward the ceilings. "Charlie's Angels?" she asked.

He laughed again. "Sure." He let her hold the gun some more, watching as she pointed it at the floor and the ceiling again, whirling around and pointing at invisible enemies in the hallway.

"This is fun," she exclaimed, turning to face him. "Although I'm sure I look like a little fool." She giggled, looking up at him.

He joined in her laughter. "No way. You look pretty hot with that thing."

She giggled again, moving to point the gun at the floor as she faced him head-on. "Whoops, better be careful with that. Don't want to shoot you!" He continued to chuckle. "So, you should probably give me your keys right now."

It was said in such a friendly tone, so casually, in the lighthearted atmosphere of their exchange, that at first, he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. He let out a half-chuckle. "What?"

She smiled sweetly, bringing the gun up steadily to point at his face. Lopez took in the practiced, confident way she held the gun, her body shifting slightly to the side as though it came naturally, and with a sinking feeling, he realized he'd just been played. _Hard. _

"What the fuck –" he snarled. The words died in his throat when she backed up from him, disappearing into the shadows. Confused, he stepped after her quickly, but then she reappeared and he sidled backward. In her other hand she clutched a Glock, pointing that at his face as well as she walked toward him. His mouth dropped open.

She glanced briefly at his gun. "Smith and Wesson. Very nice. Thank you." She lifted an eyebrow. "Those keys now, if you please." Her voice had lost its girlish high pitch, her drawl deepening slightly.

"No fucking way!" Lopez shot back, but he was afraid to move.

The girl sighed, lowering _his_ gun to point at one of his knee caps. Her Glock stayed trained on his face.

"Come on, son. Don't make me make you a cripple."

"Suck a dick!" he hissed. No way she would shoot. _She don't have the balls…_

She shot him an almost sympathetic look the instant before she pulled the trigger. He screamed as his feet were blown out from underneath him, an overwhelmingly intense pain setting his leg on fire. Blood flowed as he clawed at his knee.

"You-you shot me!" he gasped out. "You fucking crazy whore!"

She came to stand over him, placing a boot on his chest as she pointed both weapons at his face. "I tried to warn you," she chided. "You should really learn to listen. The keys, now."

He hesitated, panting, the pain in his knee unbelievable.

The pressure on his chest increased as she leaned into the foot propped on him, digging her boot in hard. "Please. Don't make me kill you."

Finally he dug the keys out of his pocket and held them out.

She jammed the Glock into the front of her shorts, keeping the S&W on his face. "No tricks, now," she warned, reaching out to snatch the keys from his hand.

He suddenly reached out to grab her leg, tugging, and she went over with a thud. Despite the pain in his knee, he clawed his way toward her, reaching for the knife in his belt. He was going to gut this bitch.

_After I show her how to respect a man!_ He fumbled at the waistband of her shorts.

Before he could make another move, her boot collided with his face, hard. His head bucked back and he spat out a tooth. She picked up the keys and the S&W she'd dropped, pointing it at him. She shook her head.

"I said, _no tricks_. You got a death wish or somethin', Junior? Now get on your knees."

Blood pouring from his mouth, he glared up at her. "How? You shot my fuckin' knee _off!"_

"Figure it out," she replied coldly, her tone clipped. "Before I lose my patience. Hands behind your head. Face the wall."

He pulled himself up, balancing on his good knee as he stuck his wounded leg out to the side, his knee on fire with pain.

"Lady, please, at least help get me to the doc –"

The words were cut off as he felt a jarring pain on the back of his head, and everything went black.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note - Ok, ok, I know how I keep saying that I have to stop here and then I post a zillion more chapters. I won't say that STEADFASTLY right now, but it's looking like "pretty soon" I really will have to chill and wait for the show to see what's what. But, I may or may not be cooking up a...shall we say..."parting gift" here shortly. ;-)**

**Thanks for the reviews, those posted and those to come! Much appreciated and much love. **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**Recommended soundtrack: Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 22**

Daryl sat listlessly in the room in the screamer pit, his hands duct-taped together, thinking about the current fucked-up state of affairs. He assumed it was his destiny to die here, in Woodbury, since he couldn't seem to stop getting caught.

They'd been in the fighting pit, he and Merle, facing off at the Governor's decree that there would be a fight to the death between the brothers. He'd refused to move. No way was he going to kill his own brother. He'd met Merle's eyes, wondering what the chances were that they could jump and kill the Governor before getting killed themselves. At least, they could do that.

The Governor had been screaming at them to move, to fight, and Daryl had seen the apologetic look flash in his brother's eyes an instant before his fist buried itself in Daryl's gut. He tumbled over, the wind knocked out of him. He wanted to get angry, but he realized that Merle was trying to buy them some time.

Then suddenly, canisters rained down on them, four in rapid succession, blowing up into smoke. He'd choked and coughed but he'd been _happy_, he'd known his team had been there to get him out. His arm had been grabbed and it was Rick. He'd had Michonne with him.

"Where's Adair?" he'd demanded.

"On the roof, layin' down cover," Rick said.

"Dammit!" Daryl had hissed as they ran. He came to a stop. "Give me your rifle. I can't let her face those fuckin' assholes by herself! Didn't you see a group of 'em go runnin' off into the building?"

Rick had argued with him for a moment, before finally, reluctantly handing his rifle to Daryl. Rick pulled his pistol out and grabbed his shoulder.

"When you find her, _get your asses out_!" he growled. "I'm not losin' any more people!"

Daryl nodded, hefting his rifle and running off toward the building.

"Wait!" Merle's shout, from behind him, brought him up short. "I'm comin' with you."

"No, Merle," Daryl growled back. "Just get the hell out of here!" They didn't have a lot of time to spare.

Daryl ducked into the building from the alley, his peripheral vision catching something flying overhead. He snapped his head up to look, but didn't see anything else. Automatic gunfire from the roof caught his attention then and he double-timed it up the stairs, Merle on his heels despite his warning.

They'd just made it to the fifth floor when a door opened, and once again, he found himself face to face with the same group of assholes that had grabbed him before. One of the bastards even had the balls to be holding _his_ crossbow and was pointing it at him now.

_Fucker,_ he thought, glaring fiercely.

"Well, well," one of the men said. "If it ain't the traitor and the terrorist. You'll just be comin' right along with us now then."

Merle took one step toward them and lightning quick, one of the men swung the butt of his rifle into the side of Merle's head. He went down like a brick.

"Where's the girl?" Daryl demanded.

The men laughed, and Daryl cringed at the noise.

"I don't think she needs to be any of your concern!" one of them barked.

"Nah, tell him," another man said, shooting the speaker a sidelong look. He looked back at Daryl, an evil smile on his face. "_I'll_ tell you, since you asked so nicely. She tried to jump over the alley to the other roof. We shot her in midair and _doooooooooown _she went." He smiled triumphantly.

Daryl's heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment. He felt sick to his stomach.

"You're full of shit," he growled.

The man smiled and shook his head. "Nope."

The world had receded for a minute as Daryl put his hands to his temples. Suddenly, everything had gone black as he felt a jarring pain on the back of his head.

When he'd woken, he discovered his hands were bound and that he was in the room where Maggie and Glenn had been held. Merle he assumed, was next door or nearby.

Sharp pain tore at his heart for the millionth time, and it felt like there was an iron hand squeezing his throat when he thought of Adair. How many times did he have to experience the pain of losing her?

He didn't care anymore. Not about anything. In fact, he felt like maybe he was ready to give up.

When the commotion outside his room started, he tensed, listening to the guard outside his door talking to someone. It sounded like girl. The walls were pretty thin, and he could hear her soft voice, her girlish giggles.

_Probably some poor kid got lost. _

The guard couldn't have been more than twenty or so. He had tried in vain to get Daryl riled up to start a fight, hurling insults and other abuses through the door. Daryl knew what he was trying to do – make his own entertainment – and wasn't about to help him out. Besides, he just didn't give a fuck anymore.

_Guess he got some other entertainment,_ he thought, listening to the guard hit on the girl in the hallway. He heard her make some hushed remark about whether the "terrorist" could hear them talking.

_Don't really give a rat's ass, darlin', _he thought dryly.

"Wanna take a peek?" he heard the guard ask the girl.

_What, am I fuckin' zoo animal on display now?_ Daryl thought irritably. Whatever they had planned for him, he wished they would just get on with it. The waiting fucking _sucked_.

Suddenly a face popped up in the window, and for a minute, Daryl thought he was hallucinating. He quickly shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times. When the vision didn't dissipate, his mouth fell open slightly in shock.

Adair was looking through the window at him, her face expressionless. Then she very quickly winked at him the instant before she disappeared from view.

He sat still for a moment, hardly able to believe she was alive, wondering if he should do something. The pinching feeling at his wrists reminded him there wasn't a whole lot he could do but wait.

_What is this crazy girl up to_, he thought frantically, straining against his bonds in the chair. He could hear more giggling on the other side of the door, some low murmurs.

"Can you show me how to hold it?" he heard her ask.

"Sure," came the guard's quick reply.

There was another low exchange, more giggles, punctuated by a few masculine chuckles.

"You do look pretty hot with that thing," he heard the guard tell her. Daryl's fists clenched involuntarily.

_Fucking touch her and die,_ he thought, enraged, straining uselessly at the tape.

There was silence for a moment. Then he heard the guard's voice take on a panicked tone.

"What the fuck –"

He couldn't make out Adair's low response, but that girlish note to her voice had disappeared. She meant business now.

"No fucking way!" he heard the guard hiss, and then a moment later he jumped, hearing the explosion rocket from the handheld cannon. For a moment, he held his breath in dread, until he heard the very masculine cries of the guard.

_Got him, _he thought with grim satisfaction.

The noise of a scuffle in the hallway drew him up sharply. He heard Adair grunt and something hit the ground hard, a metallic object clattering to the ground. In the next instant, he heard the guard grunt this time and make spitting noises.

He heard some more low murmurs from Adair, louder protests from the guard, then a muted _thunk_ met his ears, followed by a muffled sliding noise.

A few minutes later, he heard keys in the door. His heart in his throat, he stared at the door, and finally, it opened. The woman of his dreams stepped inside, her sparkling gray eyes finding him immediately, a smile spreading so wide over her face, he thought her face might crack.

She was dirty, she was wounded, her clothes were torn, she had bruises and cuts all over the fucking place, and yet, she was quite possibly the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen in that moment. He allowed a very rare, full-mouthed smile to cross his face at the sight of her.

She quickly shut the door and hurried to him.

"Adair," he breathed. "We gotta hurry. Cut me loose. They probably heard the shot and –"

He was cut off when she practically jumped onto his lap, straddling him. She grabbed his face and brought her lips down hard against his. For a minute, he lost himself in the kiss, forgetting where he was, that his hands were still bound, that their lives were still in danger. Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth, finding his in a deep, heavenly kiss.

As suddenly as it began, it ended. She pulled away with a _smack_ of their lips, staring down at him through hooded eyes, some indescribable emotion in them, as she got off his lap and went around behind him.

As she started sawing through his binding with her knife, he caught his breath. There was something completely different about her. She was still the sweet, beautiful Adair he'd met but now there was something animalistic and wild about her that he found absolutely exciting and intoxicating.

When he was free he hauled himself off the chair, rubbing his wrists. As soon as he saw her knife sheathed back in her belt, he grabbed her roughly and yanked her to him. One hand wrapped around her head while the other pressed her body close to his. Her arms went around him immediately, tightly, as she briefly pressed her face to his chest before lifting it to his.

He held her close, finding her lips with his. He knew they were pressed for time, but the last time he'd kissed her, he felt like he'd never get to do it again. And not too long ago, he'd _known_ he wouldn't, struggling with her presumed death for the second time in as many days. Now that she was here, alive, mostly in one piece, he wasn't going to let the opportunity escape him.

He gripped her hair tightly in one hand, his hand sliding up to the crown of her head. The silky strands crumpled under his harsh, needy fingers, his other hand holding her in a death grip like he never wanted to let her go. His mouth fused to hers, her skin smooth under his scruffy beard.

Finally, she pushed back from him slightly, gasping for air. One of her hands gripped the hair at the back of his neck, the other finding his cheek. Normally he would have flinched away from the caress but this time, he leaned into her cool palm, his eyes finding hers.

"We have to go," she murmured urgently.

He nodded, tilting his head slowly to take her lips in his once more. "I know." He stepped back away from her, taking her by the hand and pulling her toward the door. She handed him the Smith & Wesson she'd taken off the downed guard along with her biggest knife.

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking the weapons.

She shrugged, offering him a playful half-smile. "I know you're a badass at hand to hand and all that, but those might do you better." She reached for the knob.

He placed a hand over hers, stopping her and making her look at him. "You saved my life," he said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the words and the rush of emotion that accompanied them. "I – thank you."

She swallowed, her eyes shining in the dim light. "Did you think I wouldn't?" she asked him quietly. "I sort of owe you." She reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, kissing him hard, fast, before pulling away and opening the door.

He saw the guard on the floor, out cold, his hands neatly zip-tied behind his back. His knee was a mangled mess of blood and bone. He quirked an eyebrow at Adair. She shrugged.

"I warned him," she said simply. She tugged his hand, heading toward the hallway that led to the entrance door. "This way."

"Wait," he said, pulling back on her hand. She turned impatiently. "I can't leave without my brother," he said softly, looking at her meaningfully.

Anger, disbelief, then resigned acceptance flashed over her face. Her lips twitched, her fist clenched at her side.

"Fine," she finally said through gritted teeth. "But, Daryl, if he tries _anything_ –"

"He won't," he said quickly. "I'll make sure of it."

"The others ain't gonna like this," she muttered, shaking her head. She tossed him the key ring, which he caught in midair and turned to find the room Merle was being held in.

He turned the key in the lock and Merle lifted his head from where he sat in his chair at the sound. His face lit up at the sight of his brother.

"Brother, I'm sorry," Merle babbled as Daryl started to cut through the tape that bound his wrists. "I'm sorry, and I'll do anything to make you understand that and forgive me."

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl growled. He finished cutting through the tape and stepped back.

His big brother, the one that had always intimidated him, had beaten him several times over the course of his life, had verbally and mentally abused him for years, stared up at him in real fear, seeing the knife in his hand.

"Y-you gonna kill me?" he croaked.

Daryl's face scrunched up in anger at the question. "_No!" _he said. "I ain't gonna fuckin' kill you, Merle. Jesus. Get your ass up. We gotta get the hell outta here. And for good this time, I ain't gettin' caught again." He turned on his heel.

Merle got up and ran out after him. He stopped short, seeing Adair. "Who the hell are you, sugartits?" he demanded.

Adair folded her arms and lifted her eyebrow at him, sighing heavily.

"Don't talk to her like that," Daryl growled.

Merle looked at his brother's face, noted how it changed when he looked at the girl and got it. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "You with…Rick's group too?"

"Yes," she replied in a clipped tone. "In _Maggie _and _Glenn's_ group."

"Look, I'm sorry 'bout that, I –"

"Seems to me I ain't the one you need to be apologizin' to," she interrupted him. "I ain't the one you beat and almost executed." She turned to Daryl. "We gotta go _now."_ Without waiting for a reply, she turned and jogged off.

Daryl turned a glare on his brother, jerking his head before following after the girl. Merle silently followed suit.

:O:O:O:

By now, the townspeople had returned to their homes, the Governor and his henchmen still going door to door to speak to them. There was still a little hazy smoke floating about the streets.

They reached the wall without incident, having to duck behind buildings and corners only twice when they saw the group of the Governor and his team passing them.

There was a lone figure on the wall, holding a rifle. A woman. A blonde.

"Andrea," Daryl said to Merle.

"Wait, _Andrea_ Andrea?" Adair asked. "The one you thought had died when you left the farm?"

"That's the one," Daryl said.

_Traitorous bitch_, Adair thought, amazed, her eyes shifting up to the pacing woman. The blonde looked almost…_contented_ as she walked the wall. There was also a little self-satisfied smirk on her lips that made Adair want to slap it off her. Though the rational part of her mind understood there was no logical reason to necessarily dislike the woman, Adair's instincts screamed at her to keep her distance.

"She came here with Michonne," Merle added.

They both looked at him. "They know each other?"

"I'd say so. Spent the better part of last year traveling together after you all left her for dead."

"We didn't leave her," Daryl replied angrily. "I said I'd go back for her –"

"That's a familiar tune, little brother."

"Hey," Adair hissed, grabbing Merle's shirt and hauling him in close. "Keep talkin' shit, and I will leave you here to rot!"

"Who's there?" the blonde, Andrea, called suddenly, hearing them.

Daryl stepped out into the light of the torch on top of the wall. "Me."

"Daryl!" Andrea gasped, yanking off her rifle to jump off the wall. "What happened?"

"Andrea," he said, shaking his head. "We don't have a lot of time. We gotta get out of here. You're the only one on guard duty?"

She nodded. "Everyone else is either with Phillip, or…dead." She gave him a pointed look.

_Phillip_, Adair's mind mocked. _How touching. Sleeping with the enemy, I see._

"Listen, help me out," he said. "We have to go, or else they're gonna kill us."

"I could talk to him, to Phillip," Andrea pleaded. "Get him to let you stay –"

"Fat fuckin' chance," Daryl spat. "You know as good as me –"

"Lady, we need to go, _now," _Adair broke in, stepping up next to Daryl. She held her Glock up to the woman's forehead. Somehow, this was getting easier to do. "You gonna let us go?"

Andrea swallowed, staring at Adair in shock, a deep, angry frown creasing her face. "Get that fucking gun out of my face!" she spat.

"Adair!" Daryl hissed, grabbing her arm.

"Be a good little Governor's girl and open that gate," Adair said to Andrea in a dangerously low voice. "Or else, I don't need my gun to hurt you, sweetheart."

"Oh, is that right?" Andrea asked, immediately rising to the challenge.

"Ooh, catfight," Merle murmured from behind them.

"Knock it the fuck off, _all _of you!" Daryl said forcefully. "Jesus, what am I, your parents? Andrea, we really need your help. Please. Help us get out of here."

Andrea glared at Adair a moment longer, then looked at Daryl. After a moment, she stepped over to the gate. Merle helped her lift the huge lock up and over, and then it was pushed open.

"Come with us," Daryl said earnestly.

Adair frowned at him.

She shook her head. "I-I can't," she choked out.

Adair glared at her. "Leave her, Daryl," she said. "She's chosen her side."

"How about you shut your mouth and mind your own business?" Andrea shot back. Adair smiled and shook her head in reply.

They turned to leave, but Adair hung back for just a moment. She stepped toward the blonde, who looked wary, but didn't back down. She stared levelly into Adair's eyes as she got nose to nose with her.

"Why do I have the feeling I'll see you again?" Adair whispered. "With a Woodbury army behind you, your _lover _ready to burn the place down."

"I would never betray Daryl and Rick and the group," Andrea said back evenly. "Whatever you _think _you know about me, you don't. So stop trying to figure me out."

Adair snorted. "You already have betrayed them," she hissed. "Choosing to stay here over being reunited with the people that looked out for you for months."

"Looked out for me?" Andrea repeated. "They _left _me at that farm. To die!"

"It sounds like it was a misunderstandin' to me," Adair replied. "But I could see how that could become fodder for revenge for _you." _She pushed her forehead against Andrea's, making the blonde jerk her head back slightly. "I see you around the prison with anything more than a bag in your hand, I'll kill you myself." She stared into Andrea's blue eyes for a long moment, then turned and disappeared into the night.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note - Well, I lied, I'm back again! lol. Don't know how many more chapters I can post without the show though, although I have some extensive pieces written FOR future chapters that I'm just itching to post. Good news is we're less than two weeks away! Woop, woop! **

**Thanks to ALLLLLL who reviewed and have been reviewing this story - I REALLY appreciate it :-) Keep them coming, please!**

**Recommended soundtrack: 6 Underground by the Sneaker Pimps**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 23**

They stumbled into the darkness, away from the tiny, evil town.

_Thank God for that man's sense of direction_, Adair thought in relief. She wasn't sure at first where they were going but was content to trot along behind Daryl.

Now that they had escaped the town, deep, incredible fatigue settled into her bones, burning through every fiber in her body, as adrenaline slowly started to recede. As the energy faded, she became aware of her entire body aching, a sharp, stinging, throbbing pain her shoulder. Her ankle was tight and sore and she returned to hobbling on it, after not feeling it at all that night. Overwhelming thirst burned her throat, hunger gnawed at her belly. She felt lightheaded, sick, and like she wanted to collapse.

_Keep moving! s_he shouted at herself. _Don't stop. Don't stop._

"You know where you're goin', little brother?" Merle huffed in the darkness.

"Yes," Daryl replied in a clipped tone. He glanced back at Adair, noting how awful and exhausted she looked for the first time.

He stopped and grabbed her arm. "Adair, you all right?"

"Yeah, just keep goin'," she panted. "If I stop, I'm not sure I can start up again."

"Sentries in these woods," Merle remarked. He pointed with his stump. "Should be some over there and there."

"You sure they wouldn't have come back to town hearin' the shootin'?" Daryl asked.

Merle shrugged. "It's possible. But I don't remember seein' any of 'em. Best to assume they're there."

"Not to mention walkers," Adair wheezed.

Daryl frowned, his mind racing. He came up with a plan, a shit plan, to be sure, but it was something. With Adair in the condition she was in, she was not going to be able to defend herself against walkers or humans.

"We need to hole up for a little bit," he said, "so you can get some rest. We need to make it back to that cabin."

"Cabin?" Merle repeated.

"Yeah, only in the middle of walker territory," Adair said, scowling.

"We found a cabin about a mile and a half from here, not far from where we dropped the cars. From there it's about another four miles back to the prison or so, unless Rick stuck around for us."

"A'right, let's go," Merle said agreeably.

"No," Daryl said, holding up a hand. "I'll go ahead and try to clean out the area a bit. We did leave a few walkers there."

"I'll go with you," Merle said.

"No, I need you to stay here with Adair," Daryl said firmly, ignoring the daggers Adair shot him with her eyes. "She can hardly walk right now, let alone fight. Just give me a head start, then start followin'. It's a straight shot from here."

"What if you get overrun?" Adair demanded.

"Then I'll make sure I don't," Daryl replied, flashing her a cocky half-smile. He started to step away, then suddenly turned and took her hand. He hesitated only briefly before pulling her to him, planting a quick, tender kiss on her lips before dropping her hand. She ignored the sound of Merle clearing his throat.

"Be good," he added sternly, although it was unclear whether he was addressing Adair or Merle. He took off into the night, Merle carefully tracking his direction with his eyes.

He turned a bright smile on Adair. "Well, darlin'. Looks like we got a little time to kill."

Adair scowled at him in return, then averted her eyes and lapsed into silence, lowering herself to sit on the ground.

"So," Merle began, trying to be conversational, "how long you and my brother been fuckin'?"

Adair snapped her head up. "How about you mind your own business, asshole?" she hissed.

"Hey, hey," Merle said soothingly, unable to smother the grin that crossed his face. She was a little spitfire, his brother's woman. "Just makin' polite conversation, sugartits."

"First of all, call me 'sugartits' again, I'll cut your balls off and shove 'em down your throat," Adair replied tiredly. "And secondly, you call that _polite_ conversation?"

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Being nosy," she responded.

"Hey, he's _my_ brother," Merle said petulantly. "I got a right to know about his life." He paused again, gauging her silence as agreement. "So, how long did you say?"

Adair shot him a withering stare.

"Oh, come now. You're a beautiful woman. Surely my brother can get it up for you?"

Adair rolled her eyes, continuing to ignore him.

Merle leaned down, reaching his hand out to finger a strand of her long hair. "If he can't, sugartits, I surely can. Ol' Merle can guarantee you that –"

His words were cut off when he found the arm with the hand that touched her hair wrenched suddenly behind his back, Adair moving off the ground so fast she was a blur. He felt the serrated steel teeth of her hunting knife bite into his throat ever so slightly.

"Touch me again," she said in a low voice in his ear, "and so help me, I will cut something else off of you. And it will be somethin' you'll miss. I guarantee _you_ that."

He let out a bark of laughter, lifting his stump in the air in surrender. Adair shoved him away and sidled backward several steps, still holding her knife, wincing as pain shot up from her ankle into her leg.

"I was just testin' ya, sweetcheeks," he said, sounding slightly out of breath. "Had to make sure you were doin' right by my brother. That you wouldn't crumble at the first big swingin' dick that came after him."

"I don't want to know anything about your big swingin' whatever," Adair replied. "And do you honestly think you can compare to him?"

"Now, that's sweet," Merle said, gesturing at her with his stump. "I'll have to tell him you said that."

"Whatever," she mumbled. "Just stay away from me."

"Oh, I'm not so bad," Merle said, hurt.

Adair lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not so sure Glenn and Maggie would agree with you."

"I did nothin' to that girl," he insisted. "That was all the Gov."

"But you threw a walker at Glenn, beat him half to death, left him to die?" Adair countered.

"No more'n he did to me, once 'pon a time," Merle said. "Don't know if you heard, but Glenn and his boy Rick and T-Dog chained my ass to a roof in Atlanta, left me there to rot. Then lost the key." He held up his stump, his face darkening. "Made me cut my own hand off to get out of there!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have been such a dickhead," Adair shot back, although she knew that being chained to a roof was an awful experience she wouldn't wish on anyone. Except maybe the Governor.

Merle smirked, studying her. "You're a tough little bitch, you know that?"

"Only when I need to be," she responded quietly.

"I like that about you," Merle said, sounding surprisingly non-creepy. "I think that's good for him."

She glanced at him curiously in the dark.

"Look, for all my…buttin' into your private business," Merle began, "I promise you I'm not such a bad man. What happened with Glenn…Anger got the best of me. I wanted to know where Daryl was, and he wouldn't tell me. I lost control. You have to understand, I love my brother more'n anything." His voice took on an earnest tone. "This past year without 'im, well, it's been a hard one. Not knowin' if he was alive, how he was farin', if he was with people who he could trust to watch his back. But he's a tough sumbitch, my brother is, and if anyone could survive in this shithole world, well, it's him." He cleared his throat. "He's…different. In a good way. He's someone…he's someone to look up to now."

"Yes," Adair said firmly. "He is. He's a good man."

"More'n you can say for me, right?" Merle smiled sadly.

"Yes, actually," Adair replied. For some inexplicable reason, she felt it necessary to add, "For what it's worth, Merle, this past year without you has been hard on him too. Maybe not because he needed you, because he didn't. But you're family and that means a lot to him."

Merle nodded, not meeting her eyes.

After a few moments in silence, he said, "Well, I think that's enough of a head start. Let's go."

As he walked off, Adair started after him. A burst of pain, not localized to one specific area at this point but just a general, body-wide spasm, tore through her. She refused to show weakness in front of someone like Merle, and gritted her teeth, struggling to keep up with his fast pace.

As they pressed on, she grew increasingly more exhausted and lightheaded, her vision in the darkness growing blurry. Suddenly, she started with a jolt, and in shock, realized she was on the ground. _How the hell…?_ her mind wondered. _I was just walking…_

"Whoa there, darlin'," Merle said, hearing the thud and doubling back. "What'sa matter? You trip?"

"I'm not sure," she said, and she was frightened at how far away her voice sounded.

"Oh, darlin', you ain't gonna last another two yards, let alone two miles," he said disapprovingly. He suddenly crouched down in front of her, his back to her. "Hop on."

"Excuse me?" Adair said dryly, shoving weakly at his back.

"Hop on, I said. We gotta get to this damn cabin, and you can't walk."

"I can walk," she said, her voice sounding far away still. She got to her knees and tried to push herself up with her hands. Instead, she tumbled forward again.

"Stop bein' so damn stubborn, and get on my back before I throw ya over my shoulder," Merle said irritably.

"No," Adair said weakly. "I don't want you touching me."

"If I throw ya over my shoulder, your ass will be within reach," he warned. He crouched down in front of her again, his back to her, and she reluctantly reached for him.

He hooked his arms under her knees and rose with a grunt. "All right. Now let's go."

"What if we run into walkers or worse," Adair mumbled, her forehead falling onto his shoulder, her arms draped down his front. She was so tired, she could hardly hang on.

"Then I'll hafta apologize in advance for droppin' you on your ass so's I can kill 'em," Merle grunted back.

He moved surprisingly quickly under her weight, much faster than she would have been able to walk in her present state. Before long, she half-dozed off, her forehead still on his shoulder. The jouncing rhythm made her a little queasy, but it also lulled her into something that was not quite sleep.

"I see it," Merle's voice broke through her haze a short time later. He was panting harder now, but had hardly slowed his pace.

"Hmm?" Adair lifted her head up, hardly able to open her eyes.

"The cabin, I see it."

A sudden hissing noise assaulted them from the left.

"Whoops, down ya go, darlin'!" Merle said, dumping her unceremoniously off his back and Adair's rump met the ground quite solidly. The jolt knocked the wind out of her momentarily, while Merle ripped a knife from her belt. It was a single walker that he dispatched very quickly. Glancing around, Adair saw a few other walker bodies strewn about. She assumed they were Daryl's handiwork.

Suddenly, cold hands grasped her shoulders and Adair whirled violently, seeing the leering grin of a rotting walker inches from her face. Its straggly hair blew toward her in wisps, the rotting stench coming off it in waves. She gagged, feeling its fingers press hard into her arms.

_No scratches!_ her mind screamed. "Merle!" she choked out. "Merle!"

The creature gripped her tightly, trying to draw it upward toward its mouth. From her position on the ground, she struggled to throw her booted foot into its abdomen, and managed to knock it back a few steps. It was practically on her again when a knife blade appeared through its forehead.

"Move outta the way, sweetcheeks," came Merle's calm voice. Adair rolled onto her side and he yanked the knife out of its head, and it fell where she had been moments ago.

She lay on her side, staring at the dead creature, panting, shaking. It hit her how close she'd come to being bitten. She lifted a trembling hand to her face, pushing her hair back.

Merle watched her for a moment, then leaned down, offering his hand. "Let's go." He hoisted her up on his back, and he crossed the four hundred yards or so it was to the cabin. They passed more walker bodies.

Merle carried her up the cabin steps inside. "Daryl!" he hissed.

"Here," came the hunter's deep voice and Adair wanted to pass out from relief. Actually, she just wanted to pass out.

He stepped forward into a patch of moonlight streaming through the window, looking at Merle with something like restrained anger and curiosity as he watched his older brother slide Adair off his back. He reached out for her and she stumbled into him.

"Ok?" he asked her quietly, cupping her face to study her intently, meaning more than just her present state.

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm good. We're good."

He held up an object in his hand. "Found half a bottle of water."

"Oh, good," Merle said, reaching out for it. "I'm right parched."

Daryl glared at him. "For _her,_ asshat." He gave the bottle to Adair. "Drink it all."

She hesitated, glancing between the two men. "I can just have a sip –"

"No. All of it."

He watched with satisfaction as she quickly drained the bottle, one or two drops escaping the corners of her mouth and dripping down her neck. He took the bottle from her when she was through and chucked it. He took her hand and led her to the previous owner's bed.

"We gotta get back," she mumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Just sit for a minute."

"Ran into a couple walkers," Merle said. "You missed 'em. Second one almost got her if it weren't for ol' Merle here."

Daryl looked up at him sharply. "What –"

"She's fine," Merle interrupted. "What did I just say?"

Daryl turned back to her and helped lower her to the bed. She sat, dazed, and was silent while he looked her over. Her face was smudged with dirt and grime and the stitches in her forearm had opened somehow, red blood staining the white gauze. He pulled back the gauze at her shoulder slightly, seeing the wide gash left by a bullet. She definitely needed stitches for that too.

Her boots had somehow come unlaced. He checked her wrapped ankle, looking up at her as he tried to roll it gently in the socket. Compared to her other ankle, it felt swollen. She winced at the sensation. He re-wrapped her ankle then laced her boot tightly over it.

"Not too tight?"

She barely shook her head.

As he laced up her other boot, he stole another peek at her. Her eyes were slits, staring dully into the cabin as if she wasn't really seeing anything. She swayed ever so slightly like she could fall over, and he felt a pang of guilt. She'd really done a number on herself – for _him._ He mulled over that thought, including what she must have endured to find him, and felt a pang of something else. Some strong emotion he didn't have a name for. That she, that _anyone_, would go through whatever she had gone through to save _his _life, was beyond his comprehension. But it touched something deep within him, and he knew that despite whatever else might befall them, he would always be loyal to her if for no other reason than that.

There was a knock at the backdoor of the cabin before it was pushed open. "Daryl?" a familiar voice called.

"Yep," Daryl said, drawing his attention to the corner.

"Well, if it ain't Officer Friendly," Merle said with false excitement.

Rick glared at him in the moonlight, his hand resting on his Python. "Merle, this is a warning. Make one false move –"

"He won't," Daryl said quickly. He glared at Merle also. "Will you, big brother?"

Merle held up his hand and stumped, drawing his fingers across his lips in a pretend zipping motion.

Daryl turned back to Adair. Her eyes were open, sort of, but she was not with them. "Hey," he said softly. She didn't respond or look at him, so he stroked her cheek before pressing against her chin with his finger, coaxing her to turn her head toward him. "Hey," he said again. Her gray eyes blinked slowly and she seemed to focus on him.

"Can you walk?" he asked. "Rick's here. We're goin' home."

She nodded mutely, her arms going around his shoulders in a silent request to ask for assistance. He slipped an arm around her waist and righted her. For a moment she leaned against him, her cheek on his chest, before pulling away to hobble weakly to the door.

"Car's just right out back," Rick told her soothingly, helping her down the back stairs while Daryl held the door open.

They loaded her in the front seat next to Rick and she promptly fell asleep or passed out; which one, Daryl couldn't be sure. He turned from the passenger seat, seeing Rick step away from the trunk, slamming it shut, with something in his hand. For a moment Daryl thought Rick had shut Merle into the trunk until his saw his brother in the backseat. He glanced curiously back to Rick.

Rick held the object out in his hand. "Thought you might like to have this back."

Daryl suppressed a crow of delight when he saw his crossbow in his friend's hand. He reached out for it. _I'm sorry, baby_, he thought. _I'll never leave you again._

"How?" he asked.

Rick smirked. "Michonne got it back for you. I thought she'd run back here to the rally point; she tried to stop the guards after they knocked you and Merle out and were dragging you back to the pit. She got into a scuffle with one, shot another, took your bow and ran."

"I'll be damned," Daryl said, amused. He hefted it in his hand. He glanced up at Rick. "Thanks, man."

Rick nodded, then got into the car.

He got in the back next to his brother, watching him like a hawk with his arms folded. He didn't _think_ Merle would try anything, but he _knew _he wouldn't if he was sitting right next to him.

"Well, now!" Merle exclaimed. "Ain't we all just like a bunch of sardines in a tin can, all snug together." He turned smiling eyes on his younger brother; his smile dropped away when he saw what was in Daryl's hand. Daryl held the S&W Adair had given him from the guard. He wasn't pointing it directly at his older brother, but he wasn't exactly pointing it away, either.

"Really, little brother?"

"Cut the shit, Merle," Daryl growled. "You lucky you ain't in handcuffs."

"I'm sure Officer Friendly would love to try that again," Merle said, glancing at the back of Rick's head as he drove. Rick's eyes met his in the rearview.

"Don't give me a reason, Merle," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think you better just sit and be quiet now, you hear?"

Daryl raised the gun slightly, leveling it at his brother. His finger was straight along the barrel, not on the trigger, but it was unmistakably pointed at the man.

Merle swallowed, staring at Daryl for a long moment before deciding to follow Rick's advice.

:O:O:O:

When they reached the prison, Carol called down from the guard tower to Axel to open the gate. The blonde man quickly unlocked the gate and slid it open just far enough for the car to roll through and quickly locked it back up, the walkers just outside the fence shambling hungrily after it.

Axel met them at the car. Rick hopped out, his Python in one hand and the other on the door to Merle's side.

"Axel," he said in a low voice, glancing up at the guard tower where Carol was. "I need you to help me get this guy over to your side of the prison."

Axel looked confused, but thankfully nodded and stepped forward.

Rick opened the door, grabbing Merle roughly by the arm. "We're gonna take you to your lodgings for the night," Rick said sarcastically. "You make a peep and I'll put a bullet in your brain, understand?"

Merle glared at him but nodded once, allowing himself to be led off around to the other cellblock, Rick's Python pressed into his back. Daryl leaned his arms over the roof of the car, watching them go, sighing deeply to himself. He and Merle needed to have a little chat, as did he and Rick, but he was too tired right now to want to do anything but pass out. He just wanted to go upstairs and lay down and not be bombarded with a thousand questions.

He pulled open Adair's door, feeling suddenly gentle as he stroked her cheek until she stirred. She blinked up at him, looking around.

"Home?" she said hoarsely.

"Home," he replied, reaching in to help her out of the car. She accidentally stepped on her ankle wrong and winced, clutching at his bicep to prevent herself from falling over.

"Careful," he said, gripping her waist tightly. He shut the car door.

"Rick?" Adair asked. "Merle?"

"Let's not say anything about Merle just yet," Daryl said under his breath when Beth and Hershel appeared in the doorway.

"How bad she hurt?" Hershel called to him.

"She could use some help," Daryl replied, taking slow, measured steps next to her hobbling ones. "Looks like she pulled some stitches and got need for brand new ones. She got shot."

"What?" Beth gasped.

"_Grazed_," Adair said peevishly.

"Bring her to my cell," Hershel said, turning on his crutches, "I'll get her fixed up. Beth, can you help her shower afterward? I don't want her getting her wounds infected."

"Yes, Daddy," Beth said, holding open the door for Daryl to help her inside.

:O:O:O:

While Adair was getting fixed up, Daryl stopped into see Glenn and Maggie. The Asian was asleep in their bunk, Maggie sitting on the floor next to him, holding his hand.

"How is he?" he asked, reaching up to grasp the top of the cell doorway.

She nodded up at him. "Ok. Daddy fixed him up, gave him some medicine for the pain. He's restin' ok."

"How are you?"

She was quiet for a long moment before glancing up at him. "Scared," she admitted. "I don't know what we're gonna do."

"We'll figure it out," Daryl returned lightly, electing not to chime in with his own uncertainties.

"Where's Adair?"

"Gettin' stitched up by your old man," Daryl replied.

"She took a hell of a beatin' tonight," Maggie said. "She's brave, that girl. She got shot, lost a ton of blood, but pulled a gun on Rick when he said she couldn't stay to rescue you."

"What?" Daryl asked incredulously. "Pulled a gun? On Rick?"

"Yep. She wasn't gonna let anything stop her from gettin' you back." Maggie reached out and brushed a lock of Glenn's hair off his forehead. "There's no stoppin' a woman when somethin' come between her and the man she loves," she finished softly, staring at Glenn's sleeping face.

Daryl shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't think that's quite our thing, but I 'preciate it nonetheless," he muttered.

Maggie met his gaze again. "Oh, please, Daryl. You'd have to be blind to not see –" She stopped herself, watching as the hunter shifted his weight again and started fidgeting. "Nevermind."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Get some sleep."

He headed for the locker room for a quick shower, wishing he could stay under the water forever and get the grime and horror of the night off him. He was leaving when he saw Beth helping Adair along down the hallway. Beth had one arm wrapped around Adair and a gun in her other hand.

"Ain't safe for you to be walkin' around like this," he said gruffly, taking the gun from Beth. "I'll keep watch while she showers and walk you back."

He stood outside the locker room, watching the halls warily, as Beth helped Adair shower. He heard "ow"s from Adair and "sorry"s from Beth over and over, but finally, Adair emerged, her hair wet, her skin clean, her wounds bandaged. Now that she was scrubbed clean, he could clearly see the bumps and bruises on her. He thought she'd looked bad before; now, she looked like she'd lost a fight with an army.

"Good Lord, woman. What's the other guy look like?" he joked gently.

Adair cracked a tiny smirk. "Dead."

He escorted them back to the cellblock. Adair thanked Beth for her help and started upstairs. Daryl watched her hobble pitifully up the first four stairs before he rolled his eyes. He walked up behind her, shoving his gun into his waistband, and scooped her up.

"Hey," she protested weakly. "Put me down. I can walk."

"Maybe in the most general sense of the word," he grunted as he carried her up the stairs. "But it was workin' my nerves watchin' you clear a step a minute."

"_You_ work my nerves," she shot back, but she smiled and leaned her head against him.

He carried her toward her cell, but she squirmed in his arms. "No," she whined. "With you."

He paused for a moment, wanting to protest but not being able to find either the strength to do so or a good reason, and turned carefully and headed toward his perch.

"Don't be forgettin' what I told you about bossin' me, woman," he said gruffly, setting her down. He turned back toward her cell to get her sleeping bag and pillow from her cot. He laid her sleeping bag on top of his and added her pillow next to his. He sat down, pulling off his boots and then hers before flopping back. She lay back carefully and rolled herself into his arms.

He started in surprise, still somewhat unaccustomed to touching and being touched. He thought they'd sleep side by side; _cuddling_ was an entirely new world, something that was totally alien to him.

He took in her clean, sweet scent, inhaling deeply, and cautiously wrapped his arms around her, feeling her arms go around his waist as she scooted as close to him as she could get. The idea that any woman would _want_ and _try_ to be close to him mystified him, but it made him feel warm inside and his pulse start galloping out of control. He tried to calm his pulse, but then Adair slipped her top leg in between both of his, effectively tangling herself up in him. Having her so close, and in next to nothing besides an oversized T-shirt, was arousing him crazily, despite the circumstances. He swallowed hard and willed his body to calm down. He was sure she could feel it, but she had the good grace not to mention it. In fact, she wriggled slightly against him, creating a brief, delicious friction.

"Adair," he warned, his voice shaking slightly.

"I'll be good," she promised in a whisper, and he felt her lips on his neck. He couldn't pull away when she reached up, tilting his head down to meet hers, and her lips brushed his gently. He deepened the kiss but it was she who slipped her tongue against his first. He groaned softly into her mouth, resisting the urge to roll on top of her. Her hand slipped into his hair, tightening. Her hips pressed up slightly against his, and his hand slipped down to her waist, squeezing. He wanted her, and he wanted her badly. His body involuntarily started to move over hers.

"Ow," she suddenly hissed, and he pulled back quickly. He looked down at her, his face a question. She looked up at him sheepishly. "My arm," she answered to the question in his eyes. "You didn't do it." She reached for him again but he dropped a kiss on her forehead and pressed her carefully back.

"Have to be careful," he said softly, arranging himself so he could still hold her. He liked it. She made a noise of frustration, pulling at his shirt. "Be good," he said, a little more sternly. "Don't want you pullin' stitches."

"But…" she started, then trailed off.

"But what?"

She turned her head on the pillow to look straight into his eyes. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then whispered, "But I want you, Daryl."

The words hung in the air, so heavy Daryl could practically read them. His heart started to pound annoyingly again while other parts of his body perked up at the confession.

"I…I want you, too," he murmured back, the words tasting strange but not unpleasant on his tongue. "But not at the risk of hurtin' you. I ain't goin' nowhere."

"But –"

He leaned over and kissed her, holding himself over her carefully. Her lips pulled eagerly at his, her tongue teasing his lips before he allowed her brief entry. _No sense in gettin' all riled up again_, he thought ruefully, pulling away reluctantly. He gathered her up close in his arms, pulling her against his chest.

"Go to sleep," he said.

"But –"

"Woman, go to sleep," he growled, but he pressed his lips to the top of her head to temper his words. The truth was, the idea of being intimate with her scared the shit out of him. His experience extended to a few drunken encounters here, a few awkward encounters there, and never with anyone that he particularly cared about. He was less inclined to care if they got off too, in it only for his own release and that was all. But he cared for this woman in his arms, and he wanted her to enjoy it too. He wanted her to enjoy it as much or more as he knew he was going to. But he didn't know if he was man enough for that task.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, her hip rubbing right against him. Right there.

As he strained inside his pants, he knew that for all his insecurities, his body wasn't going to let him run and hide forever. He wanted it, and her, too much.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note - AND WE'RE BACK! WOO HOO! So what did you guys think of last night's episode? Superb acting by both Norman and Michael. Glad to see that Daryl came back to his senses. Sigh.**

**So thank you all so very much for continuing to read and review this story - it means so very much to me and I appreciate all of your messages, follows, and favorites!**

**Recommended Soundtrack: Stitches by Orgy**

Takes place at the beginning of season 3, (mostly) following the show's canon plot. Disclaimer: I only own Adair. Everything is the right and property of The Walking Dead, Robert Kirkman, AMC, et al.

**The Cherokee Rose That Bloomed For Him**

**Chapter 24**

Adair began to stir out of her heavy, dreamless sleep, momentarily forgetting where she was or what had happened. She only knew she felt warm and snuggly in her bed, feeling something equally warm and snuggly pressed against her back and all around her.

She gradually remembered she was back in the prison, and was lying on top of the makeshift bed she'd shared with Daryl. He was pressed so tightly to her back. She smiled with her eyes still closed, wiggling her hips back against him slightly as she felt for his arm through the blankets.

_Has to be here somewhere,_ she thought, frowning with her eyes closed, digging more intently. She let out a tiny growl of frustration when she couldn't seem to find his arm, and struggled into a half-upright position, intending to turn around and demand he put his arm around her. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw that his pillow and sleeping bag had been artfully arranged under and around her. Almost as though someone wanted her to think he was still there so he could slip away without her knowing.

She listened intently, glancing up at the window. It was dark outside; she wasn't sure how late she'd slept or how long she'd been asleep – it was extremely confusing. The prison was silent – too silent. Was everyone asleep? Was it still nighttime? Was it early morning? Her instincts told her that the quietness of the prison was not because of peace. She struggled to her feet, vertigo assailing her. She held her hands out for balance, squeezing her eyes shut as the room spun. When her head cleared, she opened her eyes and staggered toward her cell. Her head hurt, was pounding in fact, and every inch of her body was sore and achy. Her stomach tightened and clenched with hunger and her throat burned with thirst. Moreover, the sense of dread that had been born the second she opened her eyes and saw that Daryl had somehow tried to trick her into thinking he was still with her grew exponentially by the moment.

She grabbed her pack off the floor and dug out a handful of clothing. She barely stopped to look at them before stepping into a pair of jean shorts, a navy cotton camisole and a sheer, lightweight striped cotton henley. She shoved her sleeves up her elbows and slipped on a fresh pair of socks and headed back over to their sleeping area for her boots. As she stepped into them, she noticed that save for his sleeping bag and pillow, all of Daryl's belongings were gone. Worry made her brow furrow, and as she swept her hair up off her neck into a loose top-knot, she scurried down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

The downstairs part of the prison was pretty quiet as well. She saw Beth walking the length of the cellblock slowly, with the baby in her arms. She glanced up and smiled at Adair.

"Good mornin'," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot like shit," Adair said. "What – what time is it?"

"It's two in the morning," Beth whispered.

"Two…" Adair trailed off, confusion making her head hurt. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost twenty-four hours," the girl replied. "Daddy wanted you to rest."

"Twenty-four hours!" Adair hissed. "What – what's going on? Where…where's everyone?"

"Maggie's in her cell," Beth replied. "Resting. My dad is out there, he's waiting for you. He said he wants to talk to you."

Adair's stomach knotted tighter. She pushed through and saw the elderly gentleman sitting at one of the tables. He looked serene, glancing up at her and smiling slightly.

"Good…morning," Adair said, walking toward him. "Hershel, I feel like I'm losing my mind. What's going on?"

"You've been out for almost twenty-four hours," he replied. "You put entirely too much stress on your body, with your new wounds and pushing yourself far too hard. The pain medicine I gave you also had some sedative in it; I wanted you to rest as much possible to get your strength back. And now you need to eat something." He nodded toward the small makeshift stove they had transferred in from the kitchen. There was a large steel pot on it, with something warming inside.

"Hershel," Adair said, her head spinning. "Beth said you needed to talk to me. And…and I'm feelin' like somethin' ain't quite right around here. Where is everyone? I know they're not asleep."

"Fix yourself something to eat, and we will talk," Hershel promised. Adair stared at him, worry creasing her brow, but she obeyed both his words and her stomach and walked up to the stove. There was chicken-flavored Ramen noodles and soup in the pot and a box of saltines sitting out. She grabbed a bowl and served herself some of the soup, grabbed a handful of crackers and a fork, and sat back down. She gave him a quick look, as though to say "See?" and began to eat, staring at him intently.

He watched her first bites with satisfaction, as though he were pleased he could finally witness that she was getting some nourishment for himself. "Better?" he asked.

"Just like college," she joked humorlessly, taking a huge forkful of noodles. "And law school. And the first couple years after passing the bar."

He chuckled, but she didn't miss the way his smile never reached his eyes. She set her fork in her half-full bowl. "Talk to me, Hershel," she said quietly. "What is going on?"

Hershel sighed, then met her eyes steadily. "We've had a little upset yesterday," he said. "Rick isn't doing well at all. He had some kind of…episode when we were discussing what to do with Tyreese and his group."

"Wait," Adair interrupted, holding up her hand. "Who?"

"You must have missed them when you came in from Woodbury, but we had some visitors while you all were gone," Hershel replied. "Another group made their way into the prison, from the back, and Carl went to help them in. They seem like good people; the leader is Tyreese, his second-in-command is his sister, Sasha. They have a man and a boy, Allen and Ben, with them. They had a woman, but she was bitten on the way in and she died."

"We let in someone who was bit?" Adair repeated, aghast.

"Not into our cell. Not in here," Hershel answered. "They dealt with her before…anything occurred. We let them bury her a couple days ago."

"So you all had an argument?" Adair said. "Where are they now?"

"I was talking Rick down from kicking them out, when he suddenly started shouting at something up there." He pointed upward to the catwalk that encircled the top of the commons area. "Then he started shouting for them to get out, to leave him alone. Glenn told them to leave and I haven't seen them again."

Adair sighed. She suddenly had a headache. She brought up a hand, rubbing it across her forehead. "Then what?"

"Then Rick went outside and I haven't seen him since," Hershel answered.

"Not all day, all night?" Adair gasped.

"I'm sure he's in the tower or prowling the grounds," Hershel replied. "I believe he needs to be left alone just now."

"And the new group is gone," she repeated. "And Glenn?"

"Glenn is on a warpath," Hershel replied.

"Michonne?"

"Rick put her out yesterday morning after I tended her wounds. She hasn't left the prison yet, but she's taken up space in the yard."

"And Daryl?"

She pulled her hand from her forehead, hearing the heavy sigh he heaved at the mention of Daryl's name. "What is it?" she demanded.

"That's the main thing I wanted to talk to you about," Hershel said. He hesitated. Adair stared at him.

"Hershel," she said, with a gentleness she didn't feel. "Tell me."

"He got up, very early yesterday morning, after you all got back. You had only been asleep for a few hours. He went down and got Rick, and Glenn, and they went over to the other cellblock to get his brother. He wanted to talk about Merle, he said, wanted to tell Glenn that he was here. As you can imagine, Glenn didn't handle it well at all, on account of how Merle beat him and tried to execute him and my daughter." Adair winced. "Anyway. Rick told him that they'd give Merle some supplies but would be sending him on his way. And Daryl balked at that. He…" The elderly man trailed off, looking away and shaking his head. Adair's stomach turned in on itself.

"He what?" she asked quietly.

"Adair, Daryl is gone," Hershel said plainly, returning his eyes to hers. "He left with Merle yesterday, right after that."

Had her full lips not tightened, ever so slightly, Hershel wouldn't have noticed that anything was amiss on her face. As it was, the small, fleeting grimace was enough. He knew his news had just torn through her. She continued to stare at him silently.

"He said that he wouldn't leave his brother again," Hershel went on softly. "That if Merle wasn't welcomed into the prison, then he wouldn't be staying in the prison. That Merle's his blood and he wouldn't abandon him again."

"After everything we just went through –" Adair shut her eyes briefly, giving a tiny shake of her head. Her fingertips returned to her forehead.

"He asked me to tell you a few things," Hershel added. She dropped her hand and looked up at him. "He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry for leaving this way, without discussing it with you first. He wants you to know that he's doing what's best for him. He wants you to stay here at the prison, with us, where it's safe. And he wants you to not be so reckless, and to survive." He relayed the message as his blue eyes met hers. He couldn't tell at all how she felt about it; her face was completely impassive.

Finally, she sighed deeply. She reached out to pat his hand. "Thank you for the update," she said evenly. She rose to her feet. "I think I'll go take watch now."

"You didn't finish your food," Hershel said disapprovingly.

"I – I seem to have lost my appetite just now," she replied softly. She gave him a tight smile, noting his look of concern. "I promise to eat somethin' later."

"You should go back to bed," Hershel added. "You don't quite have your strength back."

"I've slept for a whole day," Adair said. "I think I'm good."

He saw that any argument with her would be to no avail, so instead he tossed her a water bottle with orange liquid inside. "Here. Drink this."

She caught it expertly and smirked. "My favorite." She nodded her thanks to the elderly gentleman and headed outside. When she'd slid the red door closed behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, all of her strength seeming to leave her in that instant in the still, dark early morning hours.

"You miserable bastard," she muttered under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. "You horrible, lousy, awful, fucking miserable asshole."

After a moment, she pushed off from the door and headed for the guard tower, ready to resume her duty.

:O:O:O:

She spent the rest of the night on watch, letting Carol come relieve her mid-morning. After breakfast, a shower, having her wounds checked and cleaned, and spending some time with the baby, whom she had come to learn had been named Judith, Adair was back up in the tower.

She leaned against the railing, a pair of binoculars around her neck, the rifle leaning lazily against the wall of the guardhouse. She glanced at the wall and recalled only a couple days before that she'd been pressed against it with Daryl. She shook her head and looked away. After everything she'd gone through to bring him back, after everything he'd gone through to get Maggie and Glenn back…hell, after everything _he'd_ gone through with this _group_, he was willing to throw it all way to leave with the man that had spent the better part of his life abusing him and keeping him down. He'd just turned his switch off and left.

She swallowed back the rise of bile in her throat, clenching her jaw so hard it hurt. She'd never felt so angry with one single person in a very long time. Angry, and deeply disappointed.

She was lost in her angry, hurt thoughts when she heard the doorknob turn. She cursed herself for the umpteenth time for not paying better attention and whirled, her throat catching with a strange flash of hope. She lowered her eyes, hating herself for it, when Glenn stepped into view. He had blood splattered on the front of his shirt.

"Hey," he said tersely. He noted her gaze on his shirt and glanced down. "Oh, uh, took out some walkers. We've got a problem."

"What a shock," she replied sarcastically. "What now?"

"The entrance where Tyreese and his group came in is breached. There's holes in the walls there, and a huge herd of walkers back there. Carl and I went back there to see how bad it was and we got caught up."

"Jesus," Adair muttered, closing her eyes against the pound of another headache. "What's that mean for us?"

"It means that we need to find a fucking way to fortify ourselves before we get overrun," Glenn said bluntly, and Adair was momentarily taken aback. Gone was the sweet, soft-spoken young man; the man standing before her was drunk on rage, revenge, and something in him had snapped. Something, she realized, like the something in her that had snapped in Woodbury.

"And the Governor?" she asked evenly. "Since, of course, you know he's just sittin' pretty back home in Woodbury, forgettin' all about us."

Glenn pulled his mouth into a tight line. "I want to go back and take that son of a bitch out," he hissed. "I want to put a bullet right between his eyes."

"That's a suicide mission and you know it," she replied. "One, two of us to what, seventy-five of them?" She shook her head. "Forget it. What we need to be worried about is getting this place set up against his attack." She shot him a pointed look. "Because he's _going_ to attack and you know it as well as I know it."

"I've got Carol and Axel working on some fortifications," he said quietly. "I-I'm going around back."

"Around back?" she repeated. Without taking her eyes off him, she straightened up and walked over to him until they were nose to nose. "Glenn, if you so much as even _think_ about sneaking back to Woodbury by yourself right now, I'll break your jaw."

"I'm not!" he said quickly, taking a half-step back. "I'm not, ok? The back part of the prison has some gaping holes, and I need to drive around to see just how bad it is. I was going to take Maggie with me, but…" he trailed off. He shook his head. "She needs to stay here and get some rest," he finished.

"Well, _I'll_ go with you," Adair said firmly.

Glenn shook his head. "I need you here, on guard," he said softly. "Rick is…Rick is wandering Crazytown right now. Daryl's gone." He glanced at her, an apology in his eyes when he saw her face cloud over. "That leaves me in charge now. If anything happens to me – you're the strongest one in our group. You need to lead them."

Adair glared at him. "_You_ need to stop –"

"Please," Glenn said, holding up a hand. "Don't argue with me, ok? Just stay here, keep an eye on things. I'm going around to the back to see what I can see. I'll be back." He reached out and gripped her hand tight for a minute; she gave it right back.

"Not too long, ok?" she asked bitingly. "We need you. _Maggie_ needs you." He nodded and left the guard tower.

She resumed her watch, seeing Hershel stump out toward the perimeter fence. She watched curiously, then suddenly saw Rick emerge from the thick brush around the exterior of the prison.

"What the hell is he doing out there?" Adair murmured out loud to herself. She brought the binoculars up and peered through them at Rick. His eyes were wide, shifting from side to side as he spoke to Hershel. She wished she could hear what they were discussing; she recalled Glenn mentioning Rick was starting to go off the deep end. He certainly looked like it. Her brow furrowed in concern.

She shifted her binoculars to the bridge over the courtyard, where Axel and Carol had set up metal tabletops from the cafeteria tables along the chainlink fence and reinforced them with wooden pallets. She moved her binoculars back to the field and saw an overturned prison bus that Michonne was evidently using as her new digs. She sighed. She decided she was going to go against what Rick, Glenn, _whoever_ had said and tell her to come back inside. It was far too hot and too dangerous for anyone to be outside.

She swept her binoculars down over the yard again. Axel and Carol were chatting, smiling at one another. Adair paused on them with interest for a moment.

"Adair!"

Carl's voice brought her attention down to where he and Beth were below her tower, huddled around his pistol.

"What's up, kid?" she called back.

He held up his pistol. "I accidentally got two bullets in the breech."

Adair was amazed. "How on earth did you manage to do that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno but I'm scared I might set it off…can you help me really quick?"

"Yes. Hold on." She set the binoculars down and headed for the door. She glanced back at her rifle, still leaning against the guardhouse, and shrugged. She'd only be down on the yard for a second. She skipped down the stairs and burst through the door, lifting a hand in a wave to Axel and Carol who waved back to her. She reached Carl and held her hand out for the pistol. She carefully pulled the barrel back to peek inside; she saw that somehow, two bullets had indeed lodged themselves inside the breech. Though Carl was quite the little crack-shot, he was still a bit uneasy with the logistics of firearms, so she showed him how to carefully jostle the bullets out. She told him to eject the mag for her, which he did, and then made him load both bullets back into it. She watched as he slapped it home, then told him to pull it back for the charge. He did so carefully, and she took the pistol from him to check his work, showing him that there was now just one bullet where it was supposed to be.

"Don't double charge," she told him, showing him the tiny pin on the gun that would tell him if it was loaded or not. He nodded his understanding and she handed the gun back. She reached out to playfully tug the brim of his hat down. "You'll be fine, kid," she teased, sharing a smile with Beth.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a shot from an automatic rifle cracked through the air. She immediately dropped to the ground, grabbing Beth's and Carl's arms and tugging them down with her, her head whipping back and forth frantically. As if in slow motion, she saw Axel's head snap back in a burst of blood, brain, and bone, and he went over, Carol shrieking as she fell over as well. Adair couldn't tell if it was voluntary or not, but she didn't have time to dwell on it, dragging Carl and Beth to cover, all the while cursing herself for leaving her rifle up in the tower. They took up refuge behind the cement corner of the prison. Another sudden shot hit the ground by her foot and she hastily drew it in close.

"What is that?" Beth cried. "Who is shooting at us?"

Adair chanced a glance, sticking her head out from around the corner. She had the briefest glimpse of a figure up in the opposite guard tower with a rifle aimed at her. She yanked her head back just in time, as fragments of cement blew off and rained over her when the figure took the shot.

Panting, she looked frantically over at the field. She saw Rick, Michonne and Hershel hitting the ground, lost in the tall grass. Just beyond the perimeter fence, she saw him. Tall, imposing, the bright white bandage across his face like a macabre accessory from the 1980s. Even from this distance she could see the evil grin on his face.

_One,_ she thought, ticking him off. _Two. _The man in the guard tower. She flicked her eyes from side to side. The Governor was standing next to a van. On the other side of the van was another shooter – _three – _ and then off to the side from a third angle, she saw a fourth shooter. _Four. Four assholes._

She heard a door slam behind her and turned, seeing Maggie hauling a couple automatic rifles with her. Adair immediately extended her hand and the girl tossed her one before taking cover a little further out into the yard behind some random rubble.

Adair turned and tucked her left foot under her rump, her right knee bent up and pressed to her chest. She immediately brought the rifle up, pressing the stock into her shoulder and bracing the barrel on her knee. She pressed her cheek to the rifle and peered through the sight. The sharpshooter in tower needed to be the first to go. She whipped around, firing off a shot and ducking back as he returned fire. She'd missed.

From the field, she saw Rick poking his head up to let off a few shots at the Governor; the man simply was unfazed. He let off a few more shots randomly in the air as though he weren't even trying to hit anything. She leaned out again to try another shot at the sharpshooter; his bullet hit the ground at her feet. She leaned back, breathing hard and seeing red. _Bastard's got to die_, she thought furiously.

Suddenly, she saw a van careening through the fences, stopping in the middle of the field next to Michonne's shelter. She watched in horror as a masked driver hopped out and ran to the back, yanking the loading platform down, releasing a score of walkers into the field.

"Maggie!" she shouted. "Field! I got him!" Maggie nodded and turned her bursts of fire toward the field. Michonne rose up and with her katana started slicing at the nearest walkers. Rick took aim as well, firing a few shots that brought bodies down.

Adair huffed a breath and whipped around the corner once more, sweat pouring down her face as she swung out and brought her rifle up smoothly. In one instant, she locked the sight onto the shooter's forehead even as he brought his rifle up and pointed it at her. She accepted in that fleeting moment that one of them would die, possibly both, and she was all right with that. She blinked and pulled the trigger. The sharpshooter finally collapsed onto the tower, and she saw the gaping hole in his forehead left by her bullet. She got up and ran for the fence as Maggie joined her and together they picked off most of the remaining walkers. The Governor and his friends hopped into their vehicle and started to pull off just as Glenn's truck sped back into the compound. He leapt out of the truck and rushed into the field where Hershel was being descended upon by a trio of ravenous walkers. Past the perimeter fence, Adair saw Rick go dry and started when she saw him suddenly slammed against the fence, desperate to keep two walkers from taking a chunk out of him.

Forgetting her sore ankle, she took off at top speed down the long, wrapping driveway to get to him. She saw Glenn and Michonne bracing Hershel between them and moving quickly for his truck. She allowed herself a moment of relief seeing all of them pile into the truck as the walkers fell on it, pulling off to speed through what remained of the fences. She willed herself to run faster.

"Rick!" she screamed, pumping her free arm, her rifle slung over the other. "Hang on!" He turned blue eyes wide with fright toward her as he desperately shoved away his attackers, their drooling mouths snapping dangerously close to his flesh.

Just as she reached the fence, she saw the tip of an arrow emerge through the forehead of the walker that faced Rick head-on; confused, she whirled her head and found herself staring into Daryl's eyes, the hunter about two dozen feet away from her on the other side of the fence. She wrenched her gaze from his and lifted her rifle, taking out three walkers through the fence with three rapid, well-placed shots as Rick, Daryl, and Merle set to taking out the rest in their immediate vicinity.

As the smell of gun powder rose in the air, silence descended on the field for the moment; a quiet, dangerous blanket of heavy noiselessness that ratcheted up the fear instead of easing it. Adair's steely gray eyes swept the field, littered with bodies, spotting a few more walkers lurching about. Glenn and Michonne were now back in the yard, helping Hershel out of the truck as Carl and Beth struggled to close and lock the fence, but Adair could see it was likely of no use; the van had destroyed it.

Fury, despair, and fear flamed in her, and she hefted her rifle, aiming and blowing apart the remaining walkers' skulls. She watched as the final bodies dropped to the field, the soft, friendly field they'd camped in that first night.

Their sense of safety, their hope at putting down permanent roots in this seemingly unbreakable fortress had just come to a screeching end.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N - Hey-o! Sorry this update took so long. My Muse is kicking my ass on my This Means War story. But...this is one of TWO updates I have planned to make it up to you guys! Please enjoy, and R&R. **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**piratejessieswaby: I know! So happy he pulled his head out of his asshole!**

**transf0rmer: Aw thank you! I really luff that you really luff my story XD**

**PickurePoison01: heygirlhey! Yes shit is about to go. down. hold onto your ass!**

**NoirChick: hey lovah! Yeah, I really am upset for you that you don't get TWD until FIVE DAYS after it airs here. What kind of shit is that? Yes between Glenn and Adair - they scare me. Both of 'em. What if they tag-teamed against someone? Hmm...**

**FanFicGirl10: hey sweetie! Oh...Adair is gonna put him through a little bit of shit. She's NOT. HAPPIE. with him right now.**

**Dalonega Noquisi: Ha! Something like that! Verbally, at least - for now XD Thanks for reading!**

**Lorem Tenebrae: HEY YOU! Thank you! I did something similar in my Stirrings story where my OC WIL'D OUT when Daryl did da dip on her. But she's sort of an emotional wreck. Adair is "usually" controlled with her emotions (except for when she's pissed - watch out) and I felt that she would never want anyone else to know just how much that hurt and angered her. So she was really low-key about it, only really venting to herself. For now. ;-) AS to your other question, I'll be following the canon plot BUT I will be sprinkling in my own things as well, as you will see in the NEXT chapter. THANK YOU for reading! **

**Fallon-Idalia: Yes he in trubble!**

**Sarah (Guest): OMG You read all of this in one go? And stuck with it? YES! Thank you so much! **

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Aw man I'm sorry for hurting you in the feels! Hope two updates today makes up for it?**

**ArandoraStar: OMG! THAT IS SO AWESOME OF YOU TO SAY! *tap dances* Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and hopefully you still feel the same way after this chapter lol. Her feels are hurt...**

**MadeInIreland: Hey my Irish lovely jubbly! (probably using that phrase SO incorrectly lol) Isn't Glenn so angry and scary now? Holy cripes! Ugh Andrea. *facepalm* I've got something for her in the next chapter! Can't wait for your review!**

**Whitney Lin: O.M.G. I believe you just made my day - you LOOKED FOR ADAIR IN THE SHOW! WOOOOOOOOOOP! I wish Adair was on the show! Haha and yes Daryl is IN FOR IT! He hurt her feels and she is not the most forgiving person...although, really, who could stay mad at him for an extended period of time? REALLY? THANK YOU for reading and reviewing, and I hope you like this chapter :-) Her hurt feels really come out!**

**Leyshla Gisel: HEY GIRL HEY! XD Hope you like this one! **

**Recommended soundtrack: Drunk on Love by Rihanna**

**Chapter 25**

They stood against the fence in silence for a timeless time.

Finally, Adair remembered herself and turned to Rick, whose fingers were still curled into the fence as he stared out at the field. Thanks to the hole in the fence caused by the van, there were more walkers piling into what was once their previously secure area. She knew they needed to get moving back inside. She saw Daryl and Merle in her peripheral, both quiet.

"Rick, you all right?" Adair asked, ignoring the Dixon brothers.

Rick sighed. "Yeah," he replied hoarsely. He reached out and clasped her shoulder. "We need to get going." He turned over his shoulder, looking at Daryl. "Let's go."

Daryl nodded, his eyes straying to Adair, but she seemed to look through him, her face cold and distant. They started up the gravel path toward the prison at a jog; as more walkers gradually filled the open space, they picked up their pace until they were all at a dead run, finding the need to duck and dodge reaching arms. Adair paused to turn, slashing out with her knife, slowing down a walker that had been reaching out for her. A second walker stumbled toward her and she swung her arm again, stabbing it through the forehead, using her booted foot to push it back as she yanked her knife free.

"Adair!" The bellowed shout met her ears and she whirled, stepping directly into the arms of another walker. It grabbed at her eagerly, its rotting face lowering to hers with the gusto and the fervor of an amorous lover.

She yelped in dismay, struggling to step away from it, raining a sudden downpour of blows against its chest in a mixture of panic and a desire to get away. No sooner had she managed to shove it back than she felt hands grabbing her from behind, scrabbling at her shirt. She felt cold, wretched breath on her neck and she struggled to move away.

A sudden muted _thunk_ carried through the air and a bolt whizzed past her head into the walker's skull, freeing her. She paused only to yank the bolt free before taking off in a panicked sprint. Without more than a glance, she tossed Daryl the bolt and kept running, behind Rick. When they reached the yard, Carl pushed the chain-link fence closed again, the only one that stood in tact between them and the field of monsters, and locked it up.

Adair panted and doubled over, gripping her knees. She struggled for breath and a slower heart rate as she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe slower and deeper. Gradually, she felt her system calming down. She felt a hand on her back and snapped her head up, looking up into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"You all right?" Daryl asked, his gruff voice low and concerned.

Adair's face screwed up into dismay as she wrenched away from him, straightening. She didn't answer, but turned her back on him and walked toward the prison entrance. She could hear Merle laughing at his brother and she shook her head.

"Once Daryl and Merle get in here, we need to talk about what we're going to do," Hershel told Rick calmly.

"Merle stays in there," Glenn said, gesturing outside their cellblock into the commons area, his voice cold and shaking. "He stays away from us!"

"Calm down," Rick said to the angry young man, patting the air.

"I need to change my shirt," Adair muttered. She glanced down, seeing herself covered in gore. "I'll be right back."

She took the stairs two at a time to her cell. She rummaged through her clothing, coming up with a clean shirt. She stripped off her dirty one and grabbed a cloth and a bottle of water, scrubbing her arms and torso where blood was splattered. She pulled her clean shirt over her head and her eyes fell on her second mag for her Glock. It was full, so she pulled her Glock out of her shorts and ejected the empty mag, grabbing the full one and slamming it home. She stuffed it back into her waistband and scooped up the empty mag, intending to take it downstairs and reload it while the group talked.

She shoved it into her pocket and whirled to rush back down the stairs and crashed directly into a warm, solid body standing in the doorway, its arms reaching above it to grasp the top of the doorframe.

She swallowed hard and stepped back, refusing to look him in the eyes. "Could you move, please," she said flatly. "The group has a meeting."

"I need to talk to you," Daryl replied, not budging.

She sighed, allowing herself to look at his torso. "I gotta say," she said. "I find myself less and less concerned with what you need." She started to shove past him. "Now move."

His arm came from the top of the doorframe to hook around her waist and gently push her back into her cell. "I ain't movin', Adair," he said softly. "I said I want to talk."

Finally, she met his eyes with fury. "Do you think I give a rat's ass what you want?" she hissed. "If so you're sadly mistaken. Now get out of my way!"

He stood there impassively, looking at her. If her words had encouraged any emotion in him, he didn't show it.

"I said I ain't movin'," he replied in the same soft-spoken tone. "Not until we talk about…about the last couple days."

"Talk," she repeated with a bitter laugh. "That's rich. That's really funny, coming from you. 'Cause apparently, you don't talk about shit. You just do whatever the hell you want, and damn how anybody else feels about it. Because you're a selfish bastard," she continued, her gray eyes flashing angrily, her tone heavy with acid. "You don't care if you hurt anyone. You just do whatever you want to do, because it's 'what's best' for you. Because you're Daryl Dixon and you don't give a fuck!"

She moved to step around him again, and again he cut her off. This time he lowered his head, his face right in front of hers, following her movements as she tried to move around him cutting her off.

"Adair, listen to me," he said quietly, his hand sliding under her hair to cup the back of her head. "I didn't want to leave you, or this group. I did make what I thought was the best choice for me in that moment. Merle is my blood, my family. I've already had to deal with the guilt of leaving him behind once. I couldn't do it again."

His voice had dropped to a whisper, and she'd stopped trying to move away, becoming rooted in place as she listened to him. His face had dipped closer and closer to hers with each word; now, his other hand slipped around her waist and as he spoke the last few words of his sentence, his lips brushed against hers, gauging her reaction. She stood still and let him kiss her, lightly, hesitantly. For a moment, she forgot her anger over his abandonment, her fury at being kicked aside once his abusive brother had returned to the picture. Her hands slipped up around his neck, pulling him closer, and, encouraged, he moved his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply, his hands tightening on her as their tongues met and pushed together gently, both of their breaths coming fast, hard, need overwhelming them both. Daryl gripped her hard, his hands moving from her hair to her waist and squeezing as he pushed her back against the wall of her cell and pressed his body against hers.

Then she pictured Merle's mocking face, and remembered that the man she was kissing had allowed his piece of shit brother to make him forget the people he cared about and that truly cared about him in an instant, leaving them alone without his strength and his support when they needed it most, and she ripped her mouth from his, shoving away from him. The fingertips of one hand went to her lips while the other clenched into a fist at her side and they stared at each for a moment, still breathing hard.

"You don't get to do that," she said in a low voice, stepping toward him to move past him again. His hand shot out to grip her arm. "You lost that privilege when you fucking left us to rot. Now get out of my way."

"Adair," he said, his low voice pleading.

Both of her hands suddenly flew out, connecting hard with his chest and her push sent him stumbling back several steps.

"I said get out of my way," she snarled, then whirled away from him and hurried down the upper deck, down the stairs, away from him, as fast as she could manage. She was still scowling when she hit the ground floor, moving to stand next to Glenn, leaning against the wall. Carl had pulled the cellblock door shut and locked it, leaving Merle in the commons area. He leaned against the bars of the door, his arms lounging negligently as he took them all in with a slightly amused look. His gaze landed on Adair and she stared back intensely, her gaze so cold he moved his eyes from her. She glanced upward, seeing Daryl had remained on the second floor, leaning over the railing with his hands clasped, looking down at her.  
She looked away angrily and folded her arms.

"We're not leavin'," Rick said quietly, checking his AR-15.

"We can't stay here!" Hershel said firmly, his words edged in anger.

"What if there's another sniper?" Maggie demanded. "A wood pallet won't stop one of those rounds."

"We can't even go outside," Beth added petulantly.

"Not in the daylight," Adair corrected absently.

"Look, if Rick says we're not running, we're not running!" Glenn said firmly, pleased that their leader seemed to be on his side about their living situation.

"No," Merle piped up languidly. "Better to live like rats."

"You got a better idea?" Rick asked, turning his glare on the smirking man.

"Yeah," Merle said. "We shoulda slid outta here last night, lived to fight another day. Now, we lost that window, didn't we?" He shook his head at his rhetorical question. "I'm sure he's got scouts on every road outta this place by now."

"We ain't scared of that prick," Daryl's low voice rumbled from above. Adair spared him a glance and found he was back to looking at her now.

"Y'all should be," Merle replied ominously. "That truck-through-the-fence thing? That's just him ringin' the doorbell." Merle scowled. "We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he's got the guns and the numbers. And if takes the high ground around this place?" He shook his head. "Shit. He could just starve us out if he wanted to."

"Are we really going off _his_ words?" Adair said disbelievingly, gesturing toward Merle but looking at Rick. "Let's put him in the other cell block."

"I second that," Maggie said darkly, glaring at Merle.

"No," Daryl rasped from above. "He's got a point."

"This is all you!" Maggie exclaimed, facing Merle. "You started this!"

"What's it matter whose fault it was?" Beth demanded. "What do we do?"

"I say we should leave," Hershel said firmly from his place on the stairs.

"I say we stop listening to this asshole and believing he's on our side!" Adair exclaimed.

"I was there for months, sweetcheeks," Merle replied. "You really think I don't know what the hell I'm talkin' 'bout?"

"How do we even know he's on the level?" Adair demanded, ignoring him.

"His interest is the same as ours now," Rick told her quietly. "The Governor is gunning for him like he's gunning for us now."

Adair hissed a breath. "Fuck that. I don't trust him!"

"Aw, now that breaks my heart, muffin," Merle drawled from the door. "Bein' that I saved your life, and all. I thought that made us bestest friends. Guess I don't need to point out that puts you in debt to me."

He gave her a slippery smile and set off a slow rage inside of her, licking through her like flame to a scrap of paper.

She stalked over to him, turning on her heel so fast that Rick didn't quite have time to catch her arm.

"Adair," he said warningly.

She ignored him and got in Merle's face through the bars of the cellblock door. "The fact that I haven't _yet_ killed you where you stand should be repayment enough," she hissed.

"Aw, baby," Merle said in an exaggerated drawl. "And here I thought we was gettin' close."

"You might be able to peddle your brand of bullshit to some people," Adair said, glancing up and back over her shoulder. "But I ain't buyin' it, not for one second."

Merle was openly laughing at her. "G'on, gimme some more!" he crowed. "You're mad at m'brother so you're usin' me for a punchin' bag. G'on, I like it."

"Adair," Rick said, more sharply.

She glared at Merle a moment longer before turning her back and stalking in the general direction of the group. She glanced up at saw the younger Dixon staring down at her, shaking his head.

"Fine," she said rigidly. "So what the hell's the plan, then?"

"We can't just sit here," Hershel said emphatically, speaking with more passion in his voice than Adair could ever recall hearing before.

Rick glanced at the man over his shoulder, then turned and headed for the cell block door, his boots thumping loudly against the cement. In a sudden flash of movement, Hershel slammed his crutches on the ground and lurched to his feet.

"Get back here!" he bellowed at Rick, and Adair jumped at the noise, turning to stare at the kindly, elderly gentleman in shock. She could never remember hearing the man raise his voice. Rick seemed to be surprised too, coming to a stop and turning slightly to face the man.

"You're slipping, Rick," Hershel said, his voice deadly quiet now. "We've all seen it. We understand why, but now is not the time. You once said this isn't a democracy? Now you have to own up to that. I put family's life in your hands. So get your head clear, and _do something_!"

A stunned silence fell over the group as Rick stared back at Hershel. Adair watched the two men wordlessly face off, her brow creasing.

"Let me just go take a look at things outside," Rick said quietly. "I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," Carl piped up.

Adair leaned against the bars of Maggie's cell and sighed. She exchanged a look with the brunette and for the first time since she'd joined the group, she felt a brief flash of camaraderie with the girl. She and Maggie had never really connected, especially not after the words they'd exchanged early on, but now they were seeing eye-to-eye.

A few moments later, Rick returned with Carl. Rick looked disturbed and Carl looked slightly sheepish.

"Well?" Hershel asked.

Rick shook his head, swiping a hand over his face. "Maggie, take watch," he said. "Eyes open, head down."

Maggie nodded and reached for a rifle, slinging it over her shoulder and heading outside.

Rick made his way toward them. "Field's filled with walkers," he announced, stating what Adair already knew. "I didn't see any snipers out there, but we'll keep people on watch."

Adair leaned on the stair railing, trying to ignore Daryl coming down the stairs and annoyingly, he stood right next to her. She shot him the briefest of withering stares, wondering why he insisted on being near her after she'd made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. He looked back at her defiantly, as if to tell her he didn't give a fuck, and that they'd be talking soon enough. His eyes dropped to her lips for a moment and his bright blue eyes darkened slightly. Her lips hummed in response to the look and suddenly she tasted him. She wrenched her eyes from him and back to Rick.

"We could be up in the guard tower," Daryl said. "Take out half them walkers, give these guys a chance to fix the fence."

Adair nodded grudgingly. It was something she was getting ready to suggest herself.

"Or use some of the cars to put the bus in place," Michonne added.

"We can't access the field without burning through our bullets," Hershel pointed out.

Daryl sighed heavily and swiped a hand over his face as Rick stared at the floor, his brow creased in thought.

"So we're trapped in here," Glenn said, a note of desperate anger in his voice. "There's barely any food or ammo."

"Been here before, be all right," Daryl said quietly.

"That's when it was just us," Glenn hissed. "Before there was a snake in the nest."

Daryl turned and faced Glenn head on, staring at him angrily. "Man, we gonna go through this again?" he demanded. "Look, Merle's stayin' here. He's with us now. Get used to it!"

"Hey," Rick said quietly, moving to reach for the man's shoulder. Daryl ducked his reach and glanced around, settling on Adair. "All y'all," he added pointedly before stomping upstairs.

"Seriously, Rick," Glenn said in a hushed angry voice. "I don't think Merle living here is really gonna fly!"

"I can't kick him out," Rick snapped back.

"I wouldn't ask _you_ to live with Shane after he tried to kill you!" Glen exclaimed, and Adair knew he had Rick there. Daryl had told her stories of the situation with Shane, and from what little she knew of what happened, she knew Glenn had a point.

"Merle," Hershel spoke up tiredly, "has military experience. He may be erratic, but don't underestimate his loyalty to his brother."

"What if we solve both problems at once?" Glenn said. "Deliver Merle to the Governor. Bargaining chip. Give him his traitor, maybe declare a truce."

Adair felt tired suddenly, tired and hopeless and angry. After a long moment of silence, she could stand it no longer.

"I'm going to take watch," she said listlessly, and turned on her heel without waiting for a reply.

She headed outside to the guard tower, passing their newly constructed, fortified catwalk. Since the guard towers had been invaded, they were safer lower to the ground, but Adair couldn't help thinking that the towers provided a much better view of their surroundings. She eschewed the warning to stay on the catwalk and headed for the towers, bringing her AR-15 with her. From her position with her binoculars, she saw Maggie and Carl on the catwalk. She turned on the platform that encircled the outer portion of the tower and walked toward the back, adjusting the binoculars to get a better view. Other than the disturbing number of walkers in the field, everything seemed clear.

As she leaned against the railing, her thoughts trailed back to her encounter with Daryl in her cell. Her heart sped up as heat pooled in her stomach and dropped low between her legs. She couldn't deny wanting him, badly, more than she could recall wanting most things. But she was still extremely angry with him, and also hurt. She'd risked everything, her life, to pull him out of Woodbury. The group depended entirely upon him, especially with Rick in and out of sanity, and he'd just left. It was a betrayal that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. Her hurt and anger warred with her desire for him; it was more than just lust – she wanted to give him everything and take everything from him.

She sighed deeply, the sound carrying on the wind and resonating deep in her ears. She lifted the binoculars again and scanned the field, mostly out of boredom. She watched the walkers curiously; they shambled back and forth, coming up to press against the fence, moaning and hissing and choking. She was considering what it would take to just take them all out, one by one, without a gun, when different movement coming down the hill caught her eye.

It was an armless walker, its face bloodied from the jaw down, and it was being prodded forward.

Intentionally.

Adair cocked her head and focused the binoculars, catching a familiar glimmer of bright blonde hair. The owner of the hair peeked out from around the shoulder of the walker, and Adair's eyes narrowed.

"Son of a bitch," she mumbled, lurching to her feet and running for the stairs. She took them three at a time, and then broke into a sprint as soon as she burst of the door and hit the ground. She passed under the catwalk, seeing Maggie's look of surprise as she did so.

"Andrea!" Adair called, still running. She looked at Carl, waving him toward the prison. "Get your dad and the others. Go!"


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N - Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! I'll reply to you all personally as opposed to the "Homie Shoutout" I usually do in my A/Ns. I also realized that I MIGHTTTTTTTT have a third update for you today. I wrote one MAD LONG chapter and need to divide it up into three parts before we get to this Sunday's new episode. :-)**

**So umm...it goes down in this chapter. (not smex, sorry...have to wait a bit longer XD)**

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**Recommended soundtrack: Stupid Girl by Garbage; Bruise Violet by Babes In Toyland (fight sequence)**

**Chapter 26**

Adair charged down toward the fence and stood, watching as Andrea carefully made her way up the gravel road. She could see now that the walker had had its arms deliberately cut off, and that its jaw had been broken on purpose.

_Smart little bitch_, Adair thought with grudging admiration. That didn't begin to explain what she was doing here; and Adair's eyes settled on the gun on the blonde's hip and the hatchet in her hand.

Rick ran out to join her, the others on his heels. The walkers had started to catch onto Andrea, had started to notice that her scent wasn't quite like that of the familiar creature in front of her. She lashed out toward a walker getting a bit too close for comfort, her eyes shifting rapidly from side to side.

"What are you doing here?" Rick called to her, folding his arms. "Are you alone?"

Andrea's head whipped around as she noticed that more and more of the dozens of walkers in the field were starting to head in her direction.

"Rick!" she called, her voice high and shaky. "Open the gates!"

"Are you alone?" he repeated, louder, anger edging his words.

"Rick!" Andrea shrieked. He glanced at Adair and nodded.

Adair set her rifle against the fence and sheathed her knife. "Carl," she called. "Open the gate."

The boy stepped forward to unlock the gate, sliding it back just far enough for Andrea to slip through. She shoved the walker she'd been leading away and crashed through the small opening.

"Adair," Rick said sharply, and before Carl could even close the gate, Adair grabbed the blonde by the arm, wrenching it behind her back. She yanked the strap of the shoulder bag she carried and threw it to the ground. She turned to slam Andrea face-first into the other side of the fence, quickly stripping her of her gun and knife.

"Let go of me!" Andrea screamed, jerking under Adair's tight hold.

"Not on your fucking life," Adair hissed into her ear as Rick jogged over to them.

"I got it," Rick said. "Hands up! Turn around!" He grabbed Andrea's arm and thrust it up, then proceeded to frisk her roughly. She screamed when a walker slammed itself against the other side of the fence, trying to bite through the wire at her front. Adair yanked her back and twisted her arm in the shoulder socket and kicked her foot at Andrea's ankles, purposely tripping her to bring her to her knees. She pulled Andrea's arm back as Rick continued to frisk her, grabbing her bag and rifling through it.

"Rick!" Andrea gasped, obviously in shock at her treatment. She struggled uselessly against Adair's vice-like grip. The raven-haired woman had one of her arms wrenched straight out to the side and back, a knee in the middle of her upper back, and a handful of her blonde hair clenched tight in her fist.  
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she gasped out.

"More than you know," Adair hissed into her ear, jerking her head harder. "I told you what would happen if you came back here, didn't I?"

"All right, all right," Rick said, touching Adair's shoulder. "Let her go."

Adair grudgingly released her, shoving her away a little and watched Andrea stumble to her feet.

"I asked if you were alone," Rick hissed at her.

"I am," she gasped back, bewildered his malevolence toward her.

"Welcome back," he rasped at her then grabbed her arm. "Get up."

She looked up at him, shocked, and let him lead her into the cell block, everyone piling in after them. Andrea flexed her arm in its socket, glaring at Adair, who, unsmiling, fluttered her fingers at her in a wave of false greeting and folded her arms over her chest.

Andrea looked around, taking in the cellblock. She spied Carol and rushed over to the woman, embracing her tightly as they murmured to each other. After a moment, Andrea disentangled herself from Carol's embrace and glanced at Hershel.

"Hershel, my God," Andrea breathed, spotting the elderly man and his knew appearance. She looked around, shaking her head. "I can't believe this." She looked at Rick. "Where's Shane?"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as several pointed looks were exchanged. Rick finally shook his head. Andrea huffed a deep breath.

"And Lori?" She asked. Rick met her gaze steadily before dropping his eyes to his feet.

"She had a girl," Hershel spoke up. "Lori didn't survive."

"Neither did T-Dog," Adair said tightly.

"I'm so sorry," Andrea breathed, looking around. Her eyes fell on Carl, taking in the man in a little boy's body. "Carl..."

The boy dropped his eyes as his father had done.

"You all live here?" Andrea continued, almost distastefully as she looked around again.

"Right here in the cell block," Glenn answered.

She glanced past him to the iron barred door that led to their sleeping quarters. She pointed. "There?" Glenn nodded. "Well, can I go in?" She started to step toward it but Rick stepped forward.

"I won't allow it," he said quietly but firmly.

"I'm not an enemy, Rick," she said, sounding hurt.

"We had that field, that courtyard, until your boyfriend tore down the fence with a truck and shot us up." He stared down at her angrily.

She looked shocked. "He said...you fired first."

"Guess that makes him a liar then, huh, Blondie?" Adair said sarcastically. Andrea whipped her head toward her, glaring at her. The tension between the two women was palpable.

"He killed an inmate who survived in here," Hershel informed her.

"And we liked him," Daryl added. "He was one of us."

"I didn't know anything about that," Andrea said, sounding choked. "As soon as I found out, I came. I didn't even know you were in Woodbury until after the shootout!"

"That was days ago," Adair hissed at her quietly.

"I told you, I came as soon as I could," Andrea repeated, ignoring Adair and looking at Glenn and Maggie who both regarded her coolly.

Frustrated, Andrea whirled on Adair and Michonne. "What have you told them?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Michonne said quietly. Adair only smirked, enjoying the woman's discomfort.

"I don't get it," Andrea said, beginning to get angry. "I left Atlanta with you people and now I'm the odd man out?"

"He almost killed Michonne," Glenn said, "and he would have killed us!" He jerked his head toward Maggie.

Andrea pointed at Merle. "Yeah, with his finger on the trigger!" she exclaimed. "Isn't he the one who kidnapped you? Who beat you?" She dropped her arm and sighed, bringing her hands to her face. "Look," she said, quieter now. "I can't begin to excuse or explain what Philip has done, but I'm here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out!"

"There's nothing to work out," Rick said abruptly. "We're gonna kill him. I don't know how or when, but we will."

"We can settle this," Andrea insisted. "There is room at Woodbury for all of you!"

Merle tittered. "You know better than that," he drawled.

"What makes you think this man wants to negotiate?" Hershel asked. "Did he say that?"

"No," Andrea muttered.

"Then why did you come here?" Rick demanded.

"Because he's gearing up for war," Andrea said in a rush. "The people are terrified. They see you as killers. They're training to attack!"

"I'll tell you what," Daryl drawled quietly. "Next time you see _Philip_, you tell him I'ma take his other eye."

"We've taken too much shit for too long," Glenn said with restrained anger. "He wants a war, he's got one."

Andrea shook her head and looked at Rick. "Rick, if you don't sit down and try to work this out, I don't know what's gonna happen. He has a whole town. Look at you; you've lost so much already. You can't stand alone anymore."

Rick regarded her coldly for a moment. "You want to make this right, then get us inside," he said simply.

"No," Andrea started, her voice firm.

"Then we have nothing else to talk about." Rick abruptly turned and left the commons area, stalking into the cellblock and pulling the door shut behind him.

"There are innocent people!" Andrea cried after him.

A silence fell over the group, the last echoes of Andrea's pleading shout resounding off the hard cement walls.

"We should get back on watch," Adair muttered, glancing at Maggie. The girl nodded and they walked out of the prison onto the reinforced catwalk, leaving the rest of the group with their frustrated visitor.

"Not going up to the tower?" Maggie asked.

Adair shrugged. "Not just yet. I'd like to be close-by with…a _stranger_ in our midst."

"Andrea's not so bad," Maggie said softly, and then caught the look that Adair shot her. "Well, she _wasn't_," the girl amended. "But what's your beef with her?"

"Perhaps my people skills ain't what they used to be," Adair started, "after spending almost a year by myself. But I'm fairly suspicious of folks when I come across them – I was suspicious of y'all for a little a while before I felt like I'd be safe with you. But when it comes to readin' people…Maggie, I'm telling you, somethin' ain't right with your old friend in there. She knows now the Governor attacked us first and yet she's still planning on going back to them. To _him._ And why? To tell him what she saw here? Tell him about what we do and don't have in the way of protection, fortification, ammo?"

"Shh, shh," Maggie said suddenly, patting the air and ducking down a little. Adair followed her movements but shot the brunette a questioning look. Silently, Maggie pointed downward where Andrea and Michonne had just emerged from the prison and were walking along the yard.

"You've poisoned them," Andrea was saying, her tone clearly accusatory.

"I just told them the truth," Michonne said serenely, watching Andrea with guarded eyes.

"I didn't choose him over you," Andrea insisted, turning to face her old friend head-on. "I wanted a life! Once we entered Woodbury you became hostile."

"That's because I could see it," Michonne said darkly.

"See _what?_" Andrea asked impatiently.

"You fell under his spell the second you laid eyes on him," Michonne said and Adair knew she meant the Governor.

"That is not true," Andrea said, folding her arms.

"And you still are."

_Damn straight she is,_ Adair thought.

"No," Andrea said angrily. "I am there because those people need me!"

"And what about these people?" Michonne countered calmly.

"I am trying to save them too!"

Michonne smirked. "I did not realize the 'Messiah' complex was contagious."

Andrea recoiled as though she'd been slapped. "Go to hell, Michonne," she said icily and turned her back on her friend.

"He sent Merle to kill me," Michonne called to her. "Would have killed you too if you would have come with me. But you didn't, did you?" She shook her head sadly. "Hm-mm. You chose a warm bed over a friend. _That_ is why I went back to Woodbury – to expose him for what he is. I knew that it would hurt you."

Andrea paused, and Adair could see that with those words, Michonne _had _hurt her. After a pause, Michonne turned and headed back into the prison.

Andrea stood under the catwalk, angrily scuffing her boot against the cement wall, glaring at the walkers just beyond the chain-link fence – too close for comfort.

"Be right back," Adair told Maggie abruptly and rose from their crouched position, turning to take the little stairs two at a time to the ground.

"Adair, what are you doing?" Maggie hissed, pulling herself up to see better.

Adair hit the ground and approached Andrea, the blonde whirling at the sound of footsteps behind her. Adair smirked at her and the blonde glared at her openly.

"What do you want?" Andrea asked her coldly.

"Lovers' quarrel?" Adair asked sarcastically.

"What, were you eavesdropping or something?" Andrea asked incredulously. "How dare you!"

"I was on watch," Adair said. "Making sure that _your _little boyfriend doesn't come back to try and finish what he started. It ain't my fault you chose to have a 'private' conversation right underneath me."

"What do you want?" Andrea asked her again, her face stony. "Other than to aggravate me."

"I want," Adair started, "to let you know that maybe it's time for you to head back." She shook her head. "Andrea, no one here trusts you," she added bluntly. "I'm sure that even you can see that, if you can't see anything else."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Andrea demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"What that means is you're so blinded by…well, not even love. You can't _possibly_ love that man. You're so dick-whipped that you can't see him for what he really is and you're makin' some _piss-poor_ decisions. You _want _to leave, you're _planning _to leave to go back to Woodbury – you didn't come here to stay and be with your real family. So, since that's the case, you should probably go now. I guess you have a report to give him, don't you?" Her gray eyes narrowed coldly at the blonde.

"I'm here to help!" Andrea exclaimed, her voice shaking. "I came here to _help_ my friends. Instead I get manhandled, I get frisked, I get treated like a damn criminal and like I've gone over to the enemy!"

"Do you hear yourself?" Adair countered. "You _have _gone over to the enemy! Michonne was absolutely right when she said that you chose a warm bed over a friend! You chose _his _warm bed over all of your friends!"

"Whatever Philip is or might be, there are still people there in that town that are relying on him, on _me_, to keep them safe!" Andrea shouted. Adair could see the blonde was getting visibly upset, shaking, shouting.

"Your old friend Michonne was also right about that Messiah complex of yours," Adair said, giving the blonde a slow, sweeping head-to-toe look as she shook her head. "You just _love_ being the First Lady of Woodbury so much, don't you? Is that good enough, is the _dick _good enough you would have the blood of your friends on your hands?"

Andrea's hand shot out so fast Adair hardly had time to move other than to attempt to cringe away; the blonde's open palm crashed into the side of her face and Adair felt a stinging blast across her cheek. Her eye watered involuntarily as she slid her eyes malevolently over to Andrea.

The blonde wasn't even remotely apologetic. "Don't think that just because you've had a few weeks with these people that you know them better than I do!" she shouted at Adair. "I was with them for _months! _I know them! _I_ know them!"

"No, you don't," Adair replied, her fists clenching at her sides. "You _knew_ them. You weren't here for the day that _both _Lori and T-Dog died. You weren't here when Judith was born. You weren't here when we got overrun by a herd, or when Axel got shot yesterday because of _your _boyfriend!" Adair realized she was shouting now and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"You haven't been here to help Rick through the hardest time in his life," she said, struggling to speak more quietly. "You haven't suffered here with us. _You _have been living the good life, getting fucked whenever you want, being elevated to a position of power to stroke your _out-of-control ego." _She smirked, taking on an exaggerated drawl. "I bet you're even drinkin' hand-squeezed lemonade with a teaspoon of sugar, fresh out of the ice box, aren't you, Princess?"

This time, she was ready for Andrea's swing. She caught the blonde's wrist as it flew toward her and whirled, yanking her arm and twisting it behind her back hard. Andrea screamed, more out of frustration than pain, and swung her other hand over her shoulder, connecting with Adair's forehead. The blonde's nails sliced into her skin and Adair jerked her head away, feeling the sharp sting of cuts. She reflexively brought her knee to her chest and swung her leg out in a push-kick. Her heavy boot connected with Andrea's hipbone and the blonde howled in pain as she stumbled back. She gathered herself and tackled Adair to the ground.

As Adair struggled with Andrea, she was vaguely aware of Maggie screaming at them. Adair ignored it and focused on deflecting the punches that Andrea was desperately trying to rain down on her from her seated position on Adair's chest. She glared up at Andrea and caught both of her wrists, struggling to shove the blonde off her. For a twig, she was surprisingly strong.

A moment later she heard the sound of boots thundering on the pavement as most, if not all, of the group ran outside, likely hearing Maggie.

"Ooh, shit!" Merle crowed with barely concealed delight. "Catfight!"

"Merle, shut up! Stop this shit!" Daryl bellowed at them.

"Adair!" Rick hissed. "Andrea! Stop!"

Andrea was momentarily distracted and Adair used her confusion to drive her elbow up into Andrea's chin, causing her head to snap back. Adair shoved her off and a moment later, Andrea was yanked to her feet just as Adair was pulled away and up into the air. She was panting, her chest heaving with rage as she glared as murderously at Andrea as the blonde was glaring at her. Adair barely registered that Rick had a hold of Andrea and that both Glenn and Daryl had a hold of her.

Andrea swung her leg out and her boot connected solidly with Adair's stomach and air _whooshed_ out of her lungs. That infuriated her more than anything; she willing to stop fighting now that they'd been pulled apart, but Andrea had essentially sucker-punched her. With inhuman strength, Adair ripped out of Daryl and Glenn's arms and charged the blonde, grabbing her by the head and the arm and swinging her around to slam her to the ground.

Andrea lashed up and out, her fingers curved into claws, and as Adair tried to stumble back out of range, the blonde's nails raked into her throat and she simultaneously toppled backward.

"Adair!" Daryl roared. "Fucking stop! _Andrea!_"

Andrea resumed her place on Adair's stomach, one hand wrapping around her throat as she brought her other fist crashing down. Adair jerked her head, catching the brunt of the blow on her temple.

"Anyone else finding this incredibly hot?" Merle asked no one in particular.

"Man, shut up!" Daryl yelled. "Y'all two, knock it the fuck off!" He hesitated, not sure how to break up the fight without getting severely hurt himself.

"Just let 'em fuckin' fight," Merle drawled lazily.

Adair bucked up her hips to force Andrea forward and her hands shot out to break her fall, planting them on either side of Adair's head. Adair quickly swung her legs up toward her head and wrapped them around Andrea's waist tightly, crossing her feet over the blonde's chest. As her boots collided with Andrea's face, the blonde shouted out in pain, grappling with Adair's feet. Adair used her momentum to turn over and slam the blonde hard on her side.

The force of the impact knocked the wind out of Andrea for a moment, and Adair took advantage of the opportunity. She scrambled off the blonde, grabbing one of her arms and stretching it up as she swiveled her body around it like a pole, pulling Andrea's arm up between her legs and using her hip to press upward on the blonde's shoulder socket, wrenching her arm back. She moved so fast that no one had time to register her movements until Andrea's shriek of pain met their ears.

Andrea cried out again, the pressure on her shoulder unbelievable. Her other hand shot up and back and grabbed a handful of Adair's long, silky black hair and yanked as hard as she could manage. Adair gritted her teeth, her head forced to follow the jerking movement, but she didn't let go of Andrea's arm, and it was yanked painfully in the same direction. Andrea shouted louder.

"Goddammit, knock it off!" Rick rushed over but hovered uncertainly, unsure of who to untangle from whom first and how.

"Let go of my hair," Adair hissed to Andrea, "before I pop your fuckin' shoulder outta the socket!"

Andrea yanked harder, eliciting a snarl from Adair. "Let go of my _shoulder_ before I rip your _hair out_, _bitch!"_

"Have it your way," Adair replied through clenched teeth, pushing her hip up higher and pulling Andrea's shoulder back. Her resulting wail of pain was deafening.

Suddenly Adair felt Andrea release her hair and in the next instant, Daryl was yanking Adair up and off the woman, Rick grabbing Andrea again and pulling her away.

"Further back," Rick said to Daryl through clenched teeth as he tried to haul the blonde back several paces, but not before Andrea managed to land a kick as she was pulled up, using the momentum of Rick's action to slam the toe of her boot up under Adair's chin. Her head snapped back and she tasted blood when her tongue clamped between her teeth involuntarily. She spat red droplets onto the pavement. _Now you're dead._

Adair jerked violently in Daryl's arms, intent on getting at the blonde and nothing else. Andrea's blue eyes flashed with violence as she struggled equally hard in Rick's arms.

"Adair," Daryl hissed in her ear. She didn't hear him, but felt the stitches in her shoulder rip as she yanked her arm from his grasp. Her other arm remained pinned under his, but she was quick, lunging at the blonde and managing to get in a swift, hard gut shot that left the blonde doubled over, gasping for air.

With a deep grunt, Daryl got a hold of her arm and lifted her up, turning her away as he slid back several paces. He set her on the ground with a thud, and then spun her around so she was facing him. He gripped her shoulders, lowering his face to stare hard into hers.

For a moment, she was so enraged by Andrea, by the fact that they'd broken it up, that Daryl, of all people right now, _dared_ to pull her away that she couldn't form words. She stood, shaking with fury, clutching his shirt in two balled fists as she considered violence against him.

"_Stop."_

That one word, spoken so intently, his blue eyes locking onto her eyes, dark charcoal with rage, was enough to bring her slowly back to herself. She swallowed hard, staring up into his face, her fists gradually loosening their grip in his shirt.

It wasn't Andrea. It wasn't her remarks, her stupidity, or even their acidic, hostile introduction. It wasn't any of that, although Adair genuinely disliked the woman. Their incredible violence, their viciously brutal fight was borne out of frustration. It was borne out of fear.

She was terrified, terrified of losing these people she'd come to care about, of being slaughtered like an animal. This past year, she'd grown numb to the idea of dying, to the point where she'd convinced herself that she had no fear where it was concerned. But the truth was she _was _afraid. She _did_ care, and it had taken a Custer-like charge in Woodbury and the release of her guilt about the women of her old camp and her inactivity to realize it.

And, there was something else, she realized, as she focused on Daryl's concerned blue eyes. As cheesy as it was to realize and despite her deep-seated anger with the man trying to calm her down, maybe she had an especially important reason to want to stick around these days.

A sudden throbbing in her shoulder drew her attention. The previously white gauze was now bright red, having soaked up the blood that flowed from her newly broken stitches. Daryl watched as the anger faded from her eyes, her grip on his shirt loosening. He smoothed a hand over her hair, and she allowed the caress.

"You back with me now?" he asked quietly.

Wordlessly, she nodded. He winced as he took in her bloody throat, the streaks of blood running down her temple and at the corner of her mouth. Conversely, Andrea had hardly a scratch on her, but the arm that had been in Adair's arm-bar hung limply like it hurt to move. She favored the leg opposite of the hip that Adair had kicked the shit out of, and her good arm clutched her gut. Andrea might have inflicted superficial wounds on Adair, Daryl noted, but Adair had actually _injured_ the blonde.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get Hershel to look at that for you." He stepped to the side, clearly wanting her to walk ahead of him.

Rick had released his grip on a panting Andrea. The blonde studied Adair warily as she began to move, but Adair silently shoved past her, knocking Andrea's shoulder with her own as she passed. She spat more blood onto the ground at the blonde's feet.

"Left you pretty for him," she said in a low voice to the blonde. "You're welcome." Andrea glared back silently and Adair stalked into the prison, Daryl at her heels.

:O:O:O:

Hershel had tended to her wounds – the claw marks on her throat and forehead, the bite to her tongue. He stitched up her shoulder again, chiding her for reopening it, for having such a violent brawl with Andrea at all. Daryl had stood in the doorway of Hershel's cell as Adair sat very still and quiet on the bed, listening to Hershel scold her like a father. He reached up to grasp the doorframe, watching her face intently. She hadn't looked at him or spoken to him since he'd brought her inside.

Carol had tactfully brought Andrea upstairs to see Judith; the blonde and the raven-haired women exchanged a deeply violent look as Carol led Andrea past Hershel's cell to the stairs.

Now, the group, including Adair, had gathered outside to see their visitor off. Her clothes were torn, but she'd smoothed her mussed blonde curls. Rick handed her shoulder bag back to her which she slung into the passenger seat of the car that Rick had given her. It was an old vehicle that had already been on the grounds when they arrived. Andrea put her hands on her hips and glanced at Rick.

"Can you spare it?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Rick replied.

Andrea glanced around at everyone, her eyes lighting over Adair. Daryl sighed, seeing pure animosity remained between the two women as Adair stared back at her icily, her throat and forehead bandaged. Andrea's gaze next settled on Carol. Daryl had no idea what they'd talked about upstairs but they seemed to share a meaningful look.

"Well," Andrea began finally, "take care." She climbed into the car, starting the engine.

"Andrea," Rick said, catching the blonde's attention. He handed over her gun and knife. "Be careful."

Andrea accepted her weapons and looked up at Rick. "You, too."

Rick tapped the roof of the car twice with his hand and stepped back, watching as Merle yanked back their last line of defense against the walkers. She drove slowly through the amassing herd, gravel kicking up in powdered dust as she went, until the little black car was no longer in sight.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N - Why am I always in a hurry on Fridays? Well guys, here is the promised third update today. I won't be updating this story this weekend so consider it a parting gift until next week. Thanks for your reviews on the last chapter, and if I haven't already, I WILL reply to your reviews individually! THANKS LOVE YALL AND HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND! R&R and enjoy. **

**xoxo**

**WiC1015**

**Recommended soundtrack: Change by the Deftones**

**Chapter 27**

After a moment, Rick turned to the group. "Let's find something to eat," he said softly. "And let's get some rest."

They followed him inside and set to work scraping together a meal with their meager rations. When it was prepared, they ate grouped together in the cellblock, in silence alternated with quiet murmurs. Maggie and Glenn sat together on the stairs. Adair leaned against the iron bars of a cell, watching as Beth and Carol lit some candles and placed them on the floor. Rick was on the second floor, feeding and changing Judith and cuddling her, murmuring to her softly. He made his way down the stairs, coming to lounge next to Adair and Hershel. Adair smiled at the sight of him holding the baby and stretched out a slim finger to stroke the baby's cheek.

"She's flourishing more than any of us," she murmured. Rick nodded and smiled gently.

Daryl had been talking to Merle next to the main door, catching Adair's eye. His face gentled slightly, and he nodded at her. She stretched her lips into something that wasn't exactly a smile, but a neutral display of grudging camaraderie.

At that moment, Beth began to sing, and Adair listened intently. She recognized the song entitled "Hold On," but Beth's sweet, almost jazzy voice made it a practically brand-new song.

As she sang, Daryl moved to stand next to them, folding his hands across his chest under his biceps. Merle remained by the cellblock door, not yet a part of the group, observing them. The little group by the cells listened to the blonde teen sing, her voice carrying through the cellblock soothingly.

"Some reunion, huh?" Daryl asked rhetorically.

"She's in a jam," Rick said.

"That she put herself in," Adair countered.

"We're all in a jam," Hershel said quietly. "Andrea's persuasive. This fella's armed to the teeth, bent on destruction."

"So, what you wanna do?" Daryl asked Rick.

"We match it," Rick said, and Adair knew he was talking weapons and ammo. "I'm goin' on a run."

"Tomorrow?" Daryl asked.

"You stay here," Rick said almost sternly, knowing where the hunter was headed. "Keep an eye on your brother." He paused, adjusting Judith in his arms. "I'm glad your back," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Really. But if he causes a problem, it's on you."

Adair glanced at Daryl out of the corner of her eyes, wondering how he'd react. The hunter held himself rigidly for a moment then nodded curtly.

"I got him," he said simply, and Rick seemed to appreciate it.

"I'll take Michonne," he went on.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Daryl asked in surprise.

"I'll find out," Rick replied. His eyes lit on his son and stayed there for a moment. "And Carl," he added after a beat. "He's ready." He glanced back at Daryl. "You hold it down here."

"You got it," Daryl said firmly, and he caught Adair's gaze again and stared at her so intensely, she had to suppress a shiver. The heat of his stare became too intense and she looked away, clearing her throat.

Later, when everyone had gone to sleep, Adair laid down on her cot, feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. To top it all off, she had momentarily reveled in the fact that she had the entire upper deck to herself, until she realized that Daryl had broken his own rule and moved into a cell upstairs, three down from hers.

Fortunately, he'd offered to take watch for a couple of hours so Rick could get some sleep. She closed her cell door, wishing she had a curtain, and curled up in her sleeping bag, facing the wall. Though she was tired, sleep took a long time to wash over her.

When it finally did, she felt like she'd been asleep for only a few moments when she heard a soft rap on the iron bars of her door. She jerked upright, turning, and saw Daryl leaning against the doorframe.

"Can I talk to you now?" he murmured. "You willin' to listen to me?"

She frowned deeply. "Fine," she muttered back. "But let's go into the guard tower. I don't want to wake everyone up." She figured there was a good chance she might start yelling at him and didn't want to subject anyone to it.

She rolled out of bed, wearing a pair of thin dark gray yoga pants and a simple white tank top. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a thick, oatmeal colored long cardigan and wrapped it around herself, sliding her bare feet into her boots. She knew she probably looked ridiculous but she didn't really care. She didn't plan to be up there for long.

She shuffled out of her cell and followed Daryl quietly through the prison. He used his keys to turn the lock and it squeaked in protest as he opened it just wide enough for them to squeeze through. He closed and locked it.

"Where's your brother?" Adair whispered, looking around the commons area.

"On watch."

"Are you kidding me?" she asked with a frown.

"Just for a minute so I could come in here to talk to you."

She followed him outside, the cool night air blowing through her cardigan and rippling over her skin. She shivered and hugged herself, scurrying after him as he opened the door to the guard tower and let her in first.

"Good evenin', lovebirds," Merle said when he saw them appear. He smirked at them.

"Head on in, Merle," Daryl said gruffly. "I just needed you to cover me for a minute."

Still smiling, Merle walked toward them, handing his brother the rifle. He caught eyes with Adair, who glared at him.

"Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do," Merle called over his shoulder, before disappearing into the stairwell. Daryl shut the door behind him and motioned to guardhouse.

"Let's go in here, get you out of the cold," he said.

"Gee, thanks," Adair said sarcastically, brushing past him inside. The guardhouse walls were mostly just windows on all four sides, with a small desk and chair on the interior as well as an old file cabinet. From inside, Adair had a panoramic view of their surroundings. With the velvety black night sky and bright, twinkling stars, with wisps of gray clouds, it was really a beautiful sight. It might have even been romantic had she not been so angry with Daryl.

She perched on the desk and arranged her cardigan around her before lifting her eyes to his with a heavy sigh. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Said you wanted to talk," she said, folding her arms.

"I do," Daryl said. "I-I wanna say I'm sorry for earlier today. I shouldn't have come at you like that." He paused, gauging her reaction, but her face was completely still and expressionless. "Again, I just wanted you to know why I did what I did. It was a sort of…heat of the moment situation. Rick sort of gave me an ultimatum, and I don't deal well with ultimatums." His deep voice rasped over her ears as he met her gaze earnestly. She couldn't imagine him having this conversation with anyone else. He'd never opened up to anyone else like he had with her, and she had to appreciate at least a little bit the effort he was expending. At any rate, the ultimatum was news to her.

"What do you mean, an ultimatum?" she asked slowly.

"Don't go gettin' mad at him," Daryl said, watching her brow furrow. "He was doin' what he thought he had to to keep y'all safe. I'm the one that fucked up. He just said he couldn't have Merle in the prison, period. I said if Merle ain't stayin' I wasn't gonna stay." He shrugged. "Like I said, it was a heat of the moment type of thing. I got my blood up, Rick had his up. I had just gotten my brother back after bein' separated for a year…" He broke up. "I was only thinking about him, and that was selfish."

Adair lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean, and?"

Adair sighed. "You left us, Daryl. You left _me._ I almost died in Woodbury to save you – when you needed us, we didn't leave you. _I _didn't leave you."Her voice was plaintive, and the hurt she'd been feeling for days finally flashed across her face. Even in the darkness, illuminated only by pale moonlight, he could see it. He could hear it. And it wrenched his gut and his heart.

He took a step toward her and reached out, hesitantly take her hand. "I-I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I know you risked your life for me, that you killed for me. I was wrong for just leaving. I was wrong for not thinking about you."

"Thinkin' about _all _of us," she said. "Not just me."

"_Especially_ you," he said gruffly. The apology felt strange and alien on his tongue, but he genuinely was sorry and knew that he owed it to her.

She sighed, and his hand moved to her wrist and tugged gently, letting her know he wanted her to stand. She slowly got to her feet, and he gingerly put his arms around her.

"This ok?" he murmured into her hair. "I don't want you to kick my fuckin' ass like you did Andrea."

"Then try not to piss me off anymore," Adair replied, but her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his chest. Finally, her arms slipped around his waist and tightened, encouraging him to do the same. He decided to risk the chance of getting clocked and slipped one hand up to her face and turned it up toward his. He looked deeply into her gray depths before he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her tentatively at first. When she didn't pull away, he kissed her more firmly. It was a sweet kiss, a fusing of their renewed bond and he figured what his lips couldn't speak, they could at least show her his remorse in some way.

She sighed when he drew away from her. He meant to step away and walk her back into the prison, to her cell, but her arms stayed around his waist and she gazed up at him through hooded eyes, her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

In reply, she pressed up on her toes, one hand sliding around to the back of his neck. Her slender, cool fingers grazed the skin there and he felt pressure as she pulled his face down to hers. This time, her lips were insistent, firm, probing as she kissed him harder. His hands tightened automatically on waist, and he grunted involuntarily when he felt her tongue swipe over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth for her and slipped her his tongue, shuddering when hers met it immediately. He felt himself jump to attention immediately, and he sighed, pulling away and holding her back from him by the waist.

"Adair," he growled. "We can't right now –"

"Shut up," she whispered back and before he knew it, her body was pressed against his tightly, pushing him back several feet until he hit the file cabinet. For a moment he froze. Then, as her tongue licked up the middle of his throat, stroking over his Adam's apple, under his chin and then plunged into his mouth, ferocity took him over and he gripped her waist hard, turning her around and pushing her hard into the wall.

He ran a hand up her back, squeezing her shoulder, the back of her neck, before his hands slipped under the ebony curtain of her long, silky hair, grabbing two handfuls and gripping hard. His need for her sharpened and he leaned into her, pulling her head closer as his tongue slipped into her mouth and twisted with hers. He cupped her jaw, trying to draw her up as close to him as possible. For a long, delicious moment, their tongues probed each other's mouths, neither one willing to back down as they struggled to get closer.

Adair gripped his shirt, her hands aggressive, strong. She wrenched her lips from him, her gray eyes flashing, never leaving his. For a moment he was startled by the intensity of her eyes; the look in them absolutely primal.

She ripped off her cardigan and threw it aside. She yanked him to her, her hands tearing open his shirt. Buttons flew as her nails raked his chest. He hissed with pleasure as his hand found her hair again and matched her stare for stare. If this was how she wanted it, he was only too happy to acquiesce.

In his haze he realized his scars were bared for her eyes to see and it threatened to bring him down; her eyes took them in but she didn't look repulsed. He was amazed when she grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in close, and started running her tongue over them, pressing her lips to them.

He cupped the back of her head, watching her eyes and her lips and her face. The tender, sensitive skin of his scars practically hummed under her lips and tongue and if anyone had ever told him how turned on he would get from his scars being caressed, he would have laughed in their face. As it was, he jerked and twitched inside his jeans, and she could feel that, her body pressed tightly up against his.

He gently extracted her head away from his chest before following the tender gesture with another hard, almost violent kiss. His hand resumed its place buried deep in her hair and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, bending her back slightly. His hand slipped under her tank top, finding the smooth skin of her back, and pulled it up over her head, breaking from her lips for only an instant to get the garment off and it landed next to her sweater. She yanked his opened shirt off his shoulders as she returned her mouth to his before sliding down to his collarbone and nipping down hard. He let out a grunt of pleasure and pain, knowing it would leave a mark and loving that.

He jerked her hair, forcing her head back and brought his teeth to her throat, intending to leave a mark of his own. He tugged at the drawstring of her tight gray pants as he closed his teeth around the soft skin of her throat, making her groan, the sound low and rumbling in her throat. He felt the vibrations hum under his mouth. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, hers having somehow darkened to charcoal, flashing with the same primal need as before. Her upper lip pulled back in almost a snarl, her white teeth bared as she yanked his belt open. Before she could unfasten the button he quickly scooped her up, all but throwing her onto the desk so he could finish yanking her pants off.

When they were off, he reached for the lace of her panties but suddenly he found himself being pushed back, slammed against the window of the guard tower. He let out an involuntary grunt when his back hit the wall, his eyes never leaving hers, taking in her beautiful, naked form – her soft, rounded breasts topped off with hardening pink nipples, the lines of her stomach as her muscles contracted when she reached for him, the rounded slopes of her hips.

She was against him in a heartbeat and he grew impossibly harder when he felt her soft, smooth skin slide against his as she reached for his pants again. He buried his tongue in her mouth, groaning softly into it when her fingers made their way past his zipper, brushing against the front of his boxer briefs. For an instant she cupped her hand against his hardening length, squeezing his thickness and she made a deep noise of pleasure, almost a purr.

He slid his hands down her back, squeezing her rounded bottom tightly in each hand, so tightly she gasped, before sliding lower to the backs of her upper thighs and lifting her in the air, turning and slamming her back against the window. She let out the same involuntary grunt he had and he leaned up into her, pressing his hardness against her hot mound. His hand found the edge of her lace panties and he started to slide them down her hips.

"Rip them off," she ordered through gritted teeth, the first words that either of them had uttered in several long, heated moments.

He met her glaring eyes and lunged forward, capturing her lips in his, biting her bottom lip hard as he yanked. The delicate material gave a _riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip_ as he tore them off her and threw them on the ground.

He turned back to her, bringing his mouth to the soft curve where neck met shoulder and sucked down hard, drawing as much of her skin onto his tongue as he could managed until she gasped in pain. The tip of his erection pressed against her mound, hot and wet, teasing it, teasing them both. He ached with need but he liked torturing her.

"Daryl," she begged in a whisper, gripping into his hair, her legs locking around him like a vise. "Now."

He drew one of her nipples into his mouth in reply, sucking, twirling his tongue around it as his manhood strained with urgency. The guardhouse rocked slightly when a gust of wind blew through the air.

He hadn't had much experience with this before, teasing and tantalizing a woman's body. In the past, his mission was to get in and off as quickly as possible. He had never gotten fully undressed with a woman; he had only ever just lowered his zipper. The encounters were always awkward and despite the fact that he always orgasmed, they were less than exciting and were merely him masturbating with no hands.

This was totally different; Adair brought out a uniquely sexual side of him, one he'd never known existed. He wanted to taste and explore every inch of her. He moved his mouth to her other breast, closing his mouth against the hard tiny pearl, sucking, loving her moans in the roar of the wind. Her moan ended in a tiny shriek when his teeth closed around it, nipping hard.

Her wetness slid against him and he froze for a moment. Even that slightest of sensations was enough to threaten to push him over the edge. He hadn't been with anyone in so long, even before the end of the world, hadn't thought about sex that much at all. She had awoken that need and desire for it, and so much more.

"Daryl," she panted, straining against him as though she could slip herself onto him. "_Now!"_

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, pressing up against her but not into her. He wanted her to beg, wanted her to say his name again and again; he knew he'd never get enough of hearing it slip between her lips in her sweet, breathy voice, heavy with lust and need.

_"__Now, dammit!"_ she whined, bucking against him wildly. His ragged breath matched hers and he wasn't sure how much longer he could torture himself to torture her.

"Ask me nice," he growled. "Say please, like I told you before!" To punish her, he caught her lip between his teeth then bit the skin just over her breast, hard enough to leave a mark and draw a tiny bit of blood. He liked the taste of it on his tongue.

She gasped sharply. "Please," she said softly.

He bit harder on the other side of her neck. "Louder."

"Please!" she whined, a little more loudly.

He cut off the word with his lips and tongue. He felt like he was having an out of body experience, that he was no longer in control of himself.

"Louder!" he rasped. He jerked on her hair and thrust his hips up against hers, the tip of his erection just parting her and she gasped sharply. Her wetness slipped over his tip and he quickly withdrew, his body shaking with need. She squirmed against him hard, desperate for it.

"_Please!" _she screamed, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. As if supporting her desire, the wind suddenly howled with her.

At her cry, he thrust straight up inside her, her extreme wetness lending him just what he needed to slam his hard, thick length directly up to bottom out inside her.

She let out a sharp cry, her gray eyes flying open wide, her mouth parting to an _O_ of shock. He buried his mouth in her neck to control his grunts; she was amazingly tight, the single thrust threatening to drain him of everything he had. She froze against him, trying to get accustomed to his size. He could tell by her incredible tightness it had to have been a long, long time for her as well.

"Can't take it?" he couldn't resist teasing in a ragged whisper. He withdrew and slammed up hard inside her again.

"I can," she barely managed to whisper back. He stopped thrusting, looking into her eyes, wanting her to beg again.

"Please, I can!" she moaned loudly, her head falling back against the wall as his thrusts picked up speed. He growled into her skin, trying to control and pace himself. Who knew what tomorrow would bring; if this was to be their first and final time, he wanted it to last.

But she was so wet and warm, the friction and angle just right against him, that it was just too good. He pulled away from the wall, and she looked down into his eyes, panting between moans. He moved over to the desk and set her down, then abruptly pushed her flat on her back, her legs still wrapped around him. He gripped her hips tightly in each hand.

"Daryl," she moaned. She reached up to grip his chest, her nails digging in. The sharp pain spurred him on and he thrust hard, fast, deep. He watched her face, her flushing skin, her bright eyes, her heaving chest. She managed one word. "_Hard!"_

He started slamming into her then, her moans rising to shrieks as the wind picked up again outside. He leaned over her, his weight on his hands, desperate to be as deep inside her as he possibly could. He suddenly felt her walls shudder and tighten around him, contracting rapidly, as she had her first orgasm. He stared down at her face, her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Her lips were open but no sound came out, as her body shook. The contractions were something he'd never felt before and the sensation was amazing.

"_Fuck_," he hissed. She felt so damn good. He'd never felt anything like that before. He wanted it again. Her teeth bit into his neck, his throat, his chest, her nails clawing at his back. He liked the pain. He reveled in it.

He wanted to test her so he pulled out of her, hearing her growl of irritation as she sat up sharply. He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her up, pulling her mouth to his in a hard kiss before spinning her around and shoving her down toward the table. He let his movements be deliberately ungentle, but she grasped the edge of the table and looked over her shoulder at him, tilting her rear end up higher. She wanted it, needed it, this way. Just like him.

He took a hold of himself and slid the tip of his rock hard member along her slit. He needed the short break to collect himself, and in this short period he had grown to love driving her insane with lust.

"Daryl," she gasped, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Now!" She pressed her hips backward against him, desperate for it, and he took a step back, biting back a half-smile at her shriek of frustration. He reached out and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking it hard.

"I told you about ordering me around, woman," he growled.

"_Please!"_ she shrieked again. "Please, now!"

He buried himself inside her tight wetness, loving the scream he pulled from her, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of having her tight and warm around him again. He never knew a woman could be this tight or wet. It had never been his experience before.

He began to stroke, long and hard, gripping a cheek in each hand as he spread them apart to hit her as deeply as possible. He felt her legs shaking against his as he drilled into her. He wanted to feel her walls grip him tight again, contract fast around him, letting him know he'd brought her to that level of pleasure.

As if his thoughts had willed it, he felt the sensation in the next heartbeat, and this time she moaned loudly, gasping as her body shook. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the edges of the table. He pulled out of her, amazed at the sight of clear fluid bursting out of her. He'd heard tales and seen pornos with women who "squirted" but he'd always thought it was a myth, a camera trick. He couldn't believe his eyes, and although he was out of her now, he almost came at the sight.

He grabbed her again, yanking her to him before lowering her to the floor. "You're gonna do that again," he hissed against her lips, assaulting her mouth with his tongue. She whimpered wordlessly and gripped his hair in both hands and sucked at his tongue, panting heavily through her nose. He pressed her back, finally on top of her, against her, and he knew this would be it for him; he couldn't hold out anymore and this position always did it for him.

Her legs lifted to wrap around his waist as he entered her again, his erection harder than ever. He slid one hand into her hair, burying his mouth in her neck and sucking hard at the skin as he drove into her. She was gasping in time to his thrusts before he brought his mouth to hers, their tongues finding their ways into each other's mouths and twisting against each other. Her nails dug into his skin sharply and he leaned over her, his biceps straining, loving the feeling of complete dominance he had over her right now.

His thrusts picked up speed and he knew he didn't have much longer. He pulled away from her slightly to watch her face, starting to feel her shudder again. Her eyes were gray slits, staring at nothing as her mouth fell open, her gasps returning and building on each other. A violent tremor went through her and she lifted her head, squeezing her eyes tight before she slammed her head back down against the floor, a deep, guttural moan escaping her lips, followed by a whine. He pulled out of her quickly to see it again, the flood of warm fluid bursting out of her and spattering against his groin and thighs, and the sight of her face while she came and the feeling of the fluid completely did him in.

He gripped her hip in one hand and buried himself inside her. She was soaking wet now and despite her tightness, he had no trouble finding his place deep inside her again. He thrust hard and fast, pounding into her when he felt himself tighten up against the fluttering contractions of her still-moving pelvic muscles. He growled like a feral beast and the sensations made him come harder than he could ever remember in his life. The world went black for a moment as he strained against the overwhelmingly intense sensations of pleasure that rocketed through his body. He pressed deeply into her, wanting her to take all of his hot seed shooting through her, wishing he could climb inside her body and stay there forever.

"_Ah, fuck, Adair,"_ he hissed, mini-tremors now crawling through him, his skin twitching. He gripped her hip, still pressing into her deeply, as he struggled to catch his breath. He lowered his forehead to her chest, panting as ripples of pleasure trickled through him still.

He felt her heart throbbing swiftly under her skin, as her hands stilled against him. He felt her fingertips stroke his skin lightly before her arms wrapped around him tightly. He lifted his head and kissed her forehead, her cheek and her lips, dropping his head to kiss her pulse and the soft hollow spot between her collarbones at the base of her throat.

He met her hazy gray eyes, and she bit her bottom lip and smiled, looking away almost shyly. They were coming back to their normal human selves now, the primal beasts in heat receding.

"We should get going," Daryl said lightly, starting to push himself up, but her legs tightened around him.

"No, wait," she whispered, her eyes shutting as she pulled him closer. "Not yet. Not ready to go back to reality just yet."

He pushed silky black strands back from her lightly sweating forehead and kissed her shoulder, lying against her. He listened quietly as her breathing slowed and her arms and legs gradually loosened around him. She had fallen asleep. He pushed back up again to look down at her. He winced slightly, taking in the partly healed gash on her forehead, her bandaged shoulder and arm, the plethora of cuts and bruises she'd sustained from Woodbury along with the damage Andrea had inflicted. Daryl had left his own fair share of marks. There were marks on either side of her neck where he'd sucked hard on her flesh, bite marks on her chest, including one that had bled a little. Her lips were swollen and red from his hard kisses and nips. Her breasts had marks as well, her nipples red from his overzealous affection. He wondered what he looked like, thinking about her teeth in his flesh and her nails in his chest and back.

He let her sleep for a few more minutes before gently shaking her awake. He smiled when her sleepy gray eyes opened up to him.

"Come on," he said softly, sitting back on his knees. He gathered up her clothes and handed them to her before snatching up his boxers and his jeans. He slipped his shirt on before remembering all the buttons had been torn off.

She grinned sheepishly at him. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Got carried away." Her eyes took in his face and neck, his chest and arms. "You look like you got into a fight."

He reached out of her, helping pull her cardigan around her before gently kissing her. "I did," he murmured against her lips. "With this crazy bitch…"

She smirked, her hands coming up to either side of his face. She kissed him back, gentleness and tenderness coming through her caresses now that the animalistic, lusty violence had calmed. They felt familiar. Like _his_ Adair.


End file.
